When I Will Be Forgiven
by volley
Summary: Two weeks after the events of Affliction/Divergence, Phlox finds himself in danger again...
1. Chapter 1

A few months back Deedaladee wrote to me asking if I would write a story in which Malcolm explained to Phlox why he acted as he did when the Doctor was abducted by the Klingons (Affliction/Divergence). The idea intrigued me.

I hope I took good care of your plot bunny, Deedaladee, and that this is at least in part like you wanted it.

Grateful thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Gabi2305 and RoaringMice. RoaringMice also gets a hug for finding a title for me!

§1§

"Careful of those loose rocks, Doc. There are lots of them."

"Indeed. Thank you, Commander."

On the mountain path of that rugged planet, Archer led the away party in a single file, with a couple of MACOs behind him, and Phlox and Trip bringing up the rear.

Well, somebody else was in the lead, technically – Archer mused, lifting his gaze from the uneven terrain; but the man was nowhere to be seen, scouting far ahead.

Ever one to conjure up all kinds of dangers, Reed had silently taken point upon exiting the Shuttlepod. Gone were the days when Archer would have felt deprived of the leadership role; he was no longer the reckless Captain of four years before. Not long into their trek the man had informed him he would make a recce, quickened his pace and disappeared from sight. Maybe Reed needed to be alone; after his time in the Brig he seemed to have reverted to the introverted man of their first weeks in space.

Reed. Since when had he started referring to Malcolm by his family name? He hadn't much done that – least of all in the privacy of his thoughts – after those first few weeks of their mission. Indeed, his informality had annoyed the Lieutenant to no end.

"Couldn't they have chosen a nicer place for a science station?"

Trip's drawl brought a wistful half-smile to Archer's lips. At least the Engineer had retained a bit of his original character; though these days there was a darker side even to him.

"There are reasons why this planet was chosen," Phlox replied.

The Doctor started listing them, and Archer let the words fade into the background, not interested in one of the Denobulan's lengthy explanations. The view, though, was as uninteresting as Phlox's lecture; rocks, rocks, and more rocks, with a few low bushes here and there, so that soon Archer found his mind drifting. Unfortunately these days it always seemed to drift towards the same issues; Trip wanting a transfer to Columbia; Phlox's abduction and… Yes, the issue that invariably elbowed its way to the forefront: Malcolm Reed; what he had done, and what he – Archer – had discovered about him.

Damn it, but if it had been disconcerting to find out that his Security Officer – a man he trusted with his life and the lives of all on board – had smoothly lied to him, no less shocking had it been to learn that the Lieutenant had once been a covert agent. Not for the first time Archer wondered whether he really knew Reed at all; if there were other secrets the man was keeping from him. He sighed. Trust was a tricky thing. Betray it but once and the tear in it would be hard to patch up.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Reed's compact form appeared in the distance. Archer watched him approach. His movements were supple, his reflexes sharp, and his gaze focused. Now that he saw him in a very different light from the one that had showed him only as a dedicated officer, Archer couldn't suppress a shiver.

"Lieutenant?" he enquired.

The terseness in his voice was clear; hurting him to hear it. He had been so proud of his crew, of the tightly-knit group he had come to think of as his family. Now that special bond seemed gone: gone up in smoke, like the Xindi Weapon; transferred away, like Trip; marred, like the trust between him and his Armoury Officer.

"The coast seems clear, Sir," Reed replied dutifully, wiping a sleeve on his brow. "No one in sight, neither man nor beast."

Sweat stains darkened his uniform, just as everyone else's. The atmosphere on the planet wasn't overly warm, but the hike was tiresome due to the mountainous terrain.

Archer nodded, eyes boring into the Lieutenant's indefinable grey ones. Two weeks after Reed's 'betrayal' he could still read discomfort there, but the man did not lower them, though Archer knew it was costing him a definite effort.

"There is a flatter stretch up ahead, in about a kilometre and a half," Reed continued. "I suggest we set up camp."

"But there are still a couple of hours left of light," Phlox complained, concern lacing his words. "Captain, surely we shouldn't waste them. We don't know what happened to the people of that station, and every hour might count."

Archer turned back to Reed, whose gaze was now firmly locked to the ground. He had a feeling Reed had not talked to the Doctor after the Denobulan's abduction at the hands of those Klingons. He should; and Archer made a quick mental note to tell him so.

"With all due respect, Sir," Reed countered in a deep, controlled voice, "When darkness falls we don't want to find ourselves on a mountain path. It's better to be safe for the night and early start tomorrow."

"Lieutenant, this is a rescue mission," Phlox insisted coldly.

The grey eyes lifted and sought only Archer's, purposefully avoiding Phlox, who stood just beside him. "We won't help those people if we end up taking a false step and slipping down a ravine, Sir; or if we are attacked by night predators in a position where we can't defend ourselves."

Archer knew Reed wasn't trying to be rude with the Denobulan; it was guilt for obeying Harris during the Doctor's abduction that made him shun away from Phlox's gaze, and he almost felt bad for the man – _almost_. The Lieutenant had been caught in a net and ended up putting a dent in what he held dearest, his honour. But Archer could not forget that Reed's actions had endangered his ship and his entire crew. Any sympathy was swept away from his heart whenever he thought of that.

Clenching his jaw, he debated his decision. "Are you sure there are no other suitable places for a camp, further ahead, Lieutenant?"

"Capt'n, I know our scanners don't work down here, but… wouldn't the easiest thing be to ask T'Pol to use Enterprise's sensors?" Trip butted in. "We know _they_ function."

It seemed that some of the Vulcan's logic had rubbed off on his Chief Engineer. Archer shot him a mildly amused glance, which turned sour when the patch on Trip's shoulder reminded him that "his Chief Engineer" was only temporarily back with him.

He reached for his communicator. "Archer to Enterprise."

"Go ahead, Captain," a poised voice replied.

"Lieutenant Reed tells me there is a flat portion of terrain suitable for camping not far from us. Can you scan the area and tell me if there are any others within a couple of hours' walk from our current location?"

There was a small pause before T'Pol came back with a reply.

"There is one at eight point four-two kilometres, Captain," she said, ever precision incarnate. "Along the path you are on."

Archer shot Reed a look and got back a nod. "Thanks. That will do. Any luck contacting the station?"

"No. There is still no reply to our hails."

"Keep trying. Archer out."

As they resumed their march, Trip took advantage of the stop to overtake the MACOs, and fall in step with Archer.

"Remind me once again how Starfleet came up with the brilliant idea of buildin' a science station two days' walk from the nearest landin' site, on this damn rock of a planet?" the Engineer drawled, unscrewing the cap of his canteen. "Water?" he offered.

Archer accepted the flask with a grateful nod and took a swig. Trip's relaxed mood made him feel at ease. He could almost trick himself into believing they were back in the old days, when they were naïve explorers.

"That isn't exactly true; there _is_ a landing pad," he replied, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. "Problem is, it can only accommodate one vessel, the scientists'; to be used in case of an emergency."

"Now _that_ is smart," Trip commented, shaking his head.

"It was done for security reasons, Commander," Reed shot unexpectedly over his shoulder.

The man may look like he was focused on their surroundings… – Archer mulled.

"They store some pretty virulent pathogens in that place, and they wanted to limit the danger of a terrorist attack from the sky," the Lieutenant concluded.

Trip smirked. "Well, for sure an attack from the land isn't such a piece of cake either."

"Enterprise's sensors found no trace of ships having landed on the planet," Archer reasoned. "And the entire area around the station, for a radius of kilometres, is shielded against transports. I really don't know what could have gone wrong."

Trip shrugged. "For all we know it's simply a problem with their comm. system."

"Tomorrow we'll find out," Reed commented tersely.

Archer watched him nimbly vault over a rock that was in their way; he exchanged a look with Trip, and in silent agreement they took the longer route around it.

* * *

The sky had been on fire when they had finally got to the camping site. The setting sun had painted long shadows on the ground in front of them, like pointing arrows urging them to keep going. But Archer had known better than challenge his Tactical Officer's opinion. Reed was right, in any case: it wasn't wise to risk an accident.

Reclining back on his elbows, the Captain watched Corporal Chang, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the crackling fire, finish whatever he was eating out of his ration pack. It seemed like yesterday that the MACOs had first come on board, a compact group that had kept a lot to themselves. They had seemed so damn out-of-place, among the blue Starfleet jumpsuits. Having professional soldiers on Enterprise for their mission in the Expanse had been a hard decision to make, but one he had not regretted. The tension among the crew during the first few days had been palpable, though, if only because the MACOs were a powerful reminder that they were no longer on a mission of exploration. And then there had been that rivalry between Major Hayes – bless his soul – and Reed... Hell, it had taken those two beating each other to a pulp, for them to start finding some common ground. Archer let his gaze stray to Trip and Romero, sitting on a rock off at some distance, chuckling companionably as they shared memories of camping trips. He was glad those days were over, and that the MACOs were now as part of the crew as the Starfleet complement.

"If you'll excuse me, Captain," Chang said, getting up.

Archer refocused on him. "Go ahead, Corporal. Are you going to find the Lieutenant?" Reed was nowhere to be seen – he had disappeared, saying that he was going to have a 'look around'.

"Actually, no, Sir," Chang said a bit hesitantly. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "As matter of fact I hope that in the next few minutes the Lieutenant won't find _me_."

Suddenly realising what the Corporal was up to, Archer allowed himself a teasing remark. "Be careful," he quipped. "He might mistake you for a night predator."

Chang flipped him a salute, his smile widening. "Good night, Captain. I'm taking third watch so, after, I'd better catch some sleep. If the Lieutenant doesn't shoot me, that is."

Archer chuckled. "Good night."

Maybe he ought to get some shuteye too – he mulled as he stretched, repressing a yawn. A buzzing sounded behind him, making him startle. He turned abruptly to Phlox passing a medical scanner over him. The Doctor had been so uncharacteristically silent that he had forgotten about his presence around the fire.

"Your readings are back to normal, Captain," he said, blue eyes lifting from the scanner. "But your cranial ridges are taking a little longer than I had expected to disappear; though they are barely visible now."

"As long as they do go away, eventually," Archer commented, passing a hand over his slightly raised forehead. "Despite what Trip thinks about it, I don't really like to appear intimidating."

Agreeing to be a host to that Klingon plague in order to accelerate the development of an antivirus had not been a walk in the park. But critical situations called for drastic measures, and if he hadn't, things might have taken a very nasty turn.

"Give them another couple of days, and I'm sure you'll be rid of them."

"How are your bruises?" Archer enquired in return. Phlox had been beaten for refusing to collaborate in the creation of Klingon Augments. He suspected it had been a more painful affair than the Doctor let through. Denobulans were rather private people.

"I am better, thank you," Phlox courteously replied.

He left it at that, and Archer didn't enquire further. But casting a glance around to check that they had the proper privacy, he said quietly, "I am sorry about what happened, Doc; especially about Lieutenant Reed's interference with our search for you."

"I've only heard rumours about it," Phlox said in a careful voice.

Archer bit his lip. He should have known. And he had meant the comment more as a show of sympathy to the Doctor than as an open criticism of his Armoury Officer.

"The Lieutenant was told you had been abducted to carry out an important mission for Starfleet," he said, without meeting Phlox's eyes. He should give him the facts, offer an impartial explanation, and he was sure that in his eyes the Doctor would read how he still felt about it. It wasn't easy for him to give an objective account of what had made Reed act the way he had; he still felt emotionally involved. "He thought that it was imperative for Earth that you be successful in it. He was… _ordered_ to slow us down," he forced himself to add.

"In the end my captivity did prove useful," Phlox replied.

His seemingly forgiving tone caused a wave of irritation rise within Archer, which he was powerless to stop. "He lied to me, and endangered my ship," he couldn't refrain from spitting out, and his dark tone said it all. Heaving a deep breath, he reined in his anger. "But I cannot deny that he was put in a difficult position."

"You haven't quite forgiven him yet, have you, Captain?" Phlox enquired with a frown, looking directly into Archer's eyes.

"I'm his Commanding Officer," Archer croaked out. "We went through thick and thin together. He should have trusted me with the truth."

He felt a hard mask come over his face. What had happened to his crew, his _family_? What had he, their leader, done wrong, to have Trip, his friend Trip, wanting a transfer; and Malcolm, the man who would have died to defend them, tell him a damn lie and place them all in danger?

"And now you fear he might keep other things from you."

It wasn't a question. In fact, Phlox's voice had held a touch of sadness, as if he too shared that damning doubt.

There was a scuttling noise, and a form emerged from the darkness that surrounded them, preventing Archer from giving a reply.

"Everything is quiet, Sir," Reed said, stopping at a distance. "Romero will take first watch, I'll take second, and Chang third. That will cover the night."

"Very well."

In the semi-darkness it was difficult to read anything on the Lieutenant's face; not that it was ever easy to do that. Archer doubted, though, that he could have overheard any of his and Phlox's words; they had kept their voices low.

"We'd better get some sleep, then," Archer added, picking himself up.

He stretched, feeling his muscles ache from the hike; no amount of running on a treadmill could replace physical exercise in the open air. Going to retrieve his sleeping bag in his backpack, he glanced over at Trip, sitting alone on the rock now that Romero had gone to confer with his C.O. Not so long ago the Engineer would have undoubtedly sat with his Captain around the fire.

"Get some shuteye too, Commander," he ordered. "Tomorrow promises to be a long day."

Trip straightened his back like a first-year recruit. "Aye, Sir."

Archer swallowed past a lump in his throat. Damn it, but what the hell had happened to his family?

TBC

Eagerly awaiting your comments :-)


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for some wonderful comments.

§2§

Malcolm turned abruptly to the sound behind him, weapon at the ready, making a figure freeze.

"Don't you know better than to sneak up on a man on guard, Commander?" he muttered, relaxing his stance and replacing his phase pistol in its holster.

"I know I haven't been around for a while, but I trusted you'd still recognise me as a friend," Trip quipped, bridging the gap that separated them.

Malcolm returned to gaze into the darkness. When he had learnt that Trip had asked for a transfer, he _had_ wondered if their friendship had meant anything to him. The Engineer had left without so much as an explanation, almost as if he didn't care about the people he was leaving behind.

"You shouldn't be here," he told the man, who was now standing beside him. "I'm not supposed to be distracted; and you're supposed to be tucked away in your sleeping bag."

"You know that sleep and I haven't been gettin' along much lately," Trip commented. Awkwardly, he added, "You and I have to talk."

"Don't ask."

Saying the words and turning squarely on Trip had been one and the same. Malcolm bit the inside of his cheek. Brilliant. He was giving the man a warm welcome indeed; because he really _was _happy to have Trip back, even temporarily. He snorted silently to himself. Look what had happened without him.

"Don't ask what?" Trip challenged, in a careful voice. "Why you're so damn distant these days, or what you did to piss the Capt'n off so much that he threw you in the brig?"

As if he didn't know that the two were connected.

Malcolm held his friend's eyes for a long moment, and though the distant fire didn't provide more than a faint light he could see that Trip was eager to restore their bond. But the events of the past few weeks had broken something in him, and he didn't know where to start. He averted his gaze, shifting it back to their surroundings.

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered.

He should be bloody good at keeping things to himself, damn it. He had even lied to his Captain.

"You promised you'd explain everything," Trip reminded him.

"Not now, Trip," Malcolm quietly begged.

'Not ever' – he should have said. Or even, 'not to you'; for the last thing he wanted was to tell his best friend that the perfect Lieutenant Reed… Hell, he wasn't ready to disappoint yet one more person who believed in him. It was just as well that Trip had been on Columbia when he – Malcolm – had acted as Harris's pawn. He wished, not for the first time, that he could rewind the past few weeks; or just erase them from his memory. Not a chance. He knew they would pop up from time to time, to haunt him when he would least need it.

"All right," Trip acquiesced.

They were in silence for a moment; the only sounds the crackling fire and the gloomy call of a night bird.

"There's something else," Trip eventually added.

Malcolm tossed him a look.

"I owe you an apology," the Engineer went on. "I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry."

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and Malcolm forced his gaze stubbornly ahead, unable to deny that truth. It wasn't so much the fact that Trip had left that had hurt, but the way he had done it: abruptly, without notice and practically without saying good-bye. That had hurt him deeply.

"I guess running away from problems doesn't help solve them," Trip said.

Wasn't that true… Malcolm blinked at the memories that flashed against the backdrop of his mind. He had run away from a life in the Navy, but the problems with his father had remained; he had run away from a life as a covert agent, but it had caught up with him.

"Well, guess I'll leave ya to your job, then," Trip mumbled, starting to leave.

Damn.

"Trip…" Malcolm turned, suddenly afraid to experience once again the void that had been his faithful companion for many years, before Enterprise. He was allowing his own problems and despondent mood to get in the way of this friendship, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't what he wanted, either. He passed a hand through his hair. "Why don't we… erase the past few weeks, and start again." He shrugged. "I suppose a cold start, like you did with the engine... The subroutines ought to go back to normal," he quipped; but Trip considered the words with a straight face.

"A cold start is an emergency procedure," he said carefully. "If you have to do that it means that things are pretty screwed-up. I should hope you and I don't need such desperate measures."

Malcolm looked back speechlessly. Sometimes Trip took things very seriously; though if it was the case with their friendship, it was a comforting thought. Yes, maybe all they needed was to have a nice talk over a couple of beers, and they would be back on track. He would tell him everything, he really wanted to, deep down. When this mission was over he would, yes, because a true friend would understand.

"Look," he blurted out on impulse, "I did something stupid, and..." Wincing, he forced himself to hold Trip's scrutiny. "I just don't feel like getting into it right now. I can't." Taking a deep breath, he quietly added, "I'm glad you're back, even though that patch on your arm still says Columbia."

Trip cast a look at the round insignia on his sleeve. "Don't worry, pretty soon it will change again, if Captain Hernandez has no objections." He twisted his face in a lopsided smirk. "I should've never left. Guess you're not the only one who did somethin' stupid."

"At least you didn't endanger the entire ship," Malcolm muttered darkly, before he could stop himself. He watched Trip open his mouth to speak; then close it again.

"See you tomorrow," the Engineer said, clearly curbing his curiosity in respect of Malcolm's wish.

"Good night, Commander."

Malcolm followed the retreating form for a long time, before focusing again on the darkness outside their camp, his heart lighter.

* * *

"Nice place; are we gonna knock on the door?" Trip enquired deadpan, studying the impregnable-looking structure they had finally reached.

"Not unless you want to electrocute yourself," Malcolm cautioned, though he had no doubt the Engineer was well aware of that danger.

Indeed, as the sign in several languages – Earth and non – warned, a high-tension electrical field surrounded the station's perimeter. A no-trespass line of red, blinking lights marked, on the ground, the boundary between safety and a rather unpleasant death.

"We'll ring the bell," Archer said, casting a narrowed-eye look at the armoured door, grey and solid-looking like the rest of the station. He jerked his chin to the vessel parked on the small landing pad. "At least it looks like we haven't come all this way for nothing."

Low and sturdy, the science station was partly incorporated in the rock face of the mountain. All one could see of it was an angular portion jutting out, with rows of tall, narrow slits as windows – vaguely reminiscent, Malcolm thought, of those of old castles.

With a quick gesture, Malcolm sent the MACOs on a recce of the narrow confines, and they took off, in opposite directions. The place looked undisturbed, but it was always better to make sure.

Archer flipped his communicator open. "T'Pol," he paged.

"Go ahead."

"We're at the station. Any luck with the comm.?"

"Captain, I would have informed you if we had reached the scientists," the Vulcan came back.

Though busy checking the parked vessel, Malcolm caught Trip rolling his eyes, and his lips curved up. So much had changed in these four years, and yet nothing had; and the notion warmed his heart.

"We are about to announce our arrival," Archer replied, ignoring T'Pol's show of logic. "I'll be in touch. Archer out." He turned to his Armoury Officer. "Lieutenant?"

"Everything seems normal, Captain," Malcolm said, having received reassuring nods from Chang and Romero.

Slipping his communicator back into his arm pocket and zipping that up, Archer approached a tall, round metal column that stood about a metre outside the boundary line. He pressed a button on it and a flat, brassy voice filled the silence.

"Please allow retinal identification and state your name."

Archer straightened his shoulders, staring into the scanner. "Archer, Jonathan. Captain. Starfleet authorisation alpha, six, four, zulu, twelve."

"Captain Jonathan Archer, Commanding Officer. Stationed on the S.S. Enterprise," the computerised voice came back. "State the reason for your visit."

"I wish to speak to Doctor Sahak."

A good half a minute ticked by.

"Doctor Sahak does not respond."

Archer frowned. "Computer, page Doctor Trenton," he tried. More long seconds passed.

"Doctor Trenton does not respond."

"Doctor Anybody available?" Archer muttered in frustration.

"Doctor Anybody is not part of this facility," the computer dutifully replied.

Archer sighed. "Computer, page any of the doctors of this facility."

When the reply finally arrived, it was what Archer had feared.

"No doctor is available at the moment."

Frowning, Archer enquired, "Computer, scan the station for life signs."

"Six life signs detected."

"That's what it's supposed to be," Archer said, turning to his people. "Maybe it _is_ only a problem with their comm."

"I wouldn't let our guard down, Sir," Malcolm warned.

Archer rubbed an absent hand on his slightly misshaped forehead. "Computer, scan the station for toxic or dangerous elements," he ordered darkly.

"This facility stores a number of pathogens for research purposes. Altarian encephalitis, Andronesian encephalitis…"

"Computer stop," Archer butted in loudly. "Scan the facility's _air_ for toxic or dangerous elements," he rephrased.

The waiting seemed longer that it actually was, but the answer was reassuring.

"No toxic or dangerous elements detected in the facility's air."

"We should go in, Captain," Phlox said, urgency in his voice. "We must make sure the doctors are all right."

"That's what we're here for, Doc," Archer patiently reassured him. He turned back to the column. "Computer, I wish to deactivate the energy field and gain entrance to the station."

"The operation requires the clearance of two persons, each in possession of deactivation codes."

Archer glanced at Trip, who approached the column and looked into the retinal scanner. "Tucker, Charles, Commander. Starfleet authorisation beta, three, nine, gamma, alpha, fourteen."

"Commander Charles Tucker the Third, Chief Engineer. Stationed on the S.S. Columbia," the voice acknowledged.

Malcolm saw Archer's lips tighten at the reminder that Trip was no longer part of his team, at least officially, and had time to hope that Hernandez – or the Captain himself, for that matter – wasn't going to object to the Engineer's return, before a small panel slid open and a keyboard appeared.

"Captain Jonathan Archer, type the first deactivation code."

Archer raised a hand and punched in the alpha-numerical code that Admiral Gardiner had sent to his computer.

"Commander Charles Tucker, type the second deactivation code."

As soon as Trip had complied, the red lights of the no-trespass line switched off, and the thick door unlocked.

"The energy field has been deactivated. You have sixty seconds to enter the facility before it activates again. Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…"

"Let's go," Archer said, already moving.

* * *

Inside, the station was a lot brighter than Malcolm would have expected. The white colour scheme and bright lights made for a totally different environment than its grey and foreboding exterior.

They found themselves in a large semicircular entrance hall with three corridors fanning out. As they looked around, Trip got out his scanner and switched it on.

"Nothin'," he muttered. "Dead as a dodo."

"If that colourful expression means that your scanner is not working, it doesn't matter, Commander," Phlox said, a touch of humour cheering his voice. "As you know, Captain, I have visited this station once before. I remember its layout quite well." He pointed to the right. "That corridor leads to private quarters. Storage rooms, kitchen and lounge are down the left corridor." He looked straight ahead, at the centre hallway. "This is where the command centre and the labs are."

With that he started with purposeful strides in that direction.

Bad things always happened without warning. Malcolm had learnt the lesson well by now; that's why he kept ready at all times.

Phlox had barely taken a couple of steps into the corridor when an alarm blared. Malcolm did a quick round survey. Archer and Trip were still in the middle of the hall; the MACOs had taken a defensive stance, ready to get into action; the Denobulan Doctor had frozen in the corridor.

Bad things always happened way too fast, too, requiring quick reactions. It didn't take Malcolm long to realise what was happening and what he had to do. Diving, he rolled under the barrier that was dropping with alarming speed from the ceiling like a guillotine. Phlox was about to be cut off from the rest of them, and he couldn't allow that; not the Doctor. He had left him to his own devices already once, with those Klingons, and he wasn't about to do it again. He made it to the other side with inches to spare.

With a slamming sound, the barrier – made of a clear material – locked in place, sealing them off from the rest of the away party. Malcolm jumped to his feet, wishing the deafening alarm would stop. As if someone had heard him, it did.

Archer and Trip were frantically examining the partition from their side, with the MACOs standing each on one side, weapons at the ready.

"This is an emergency barrier," Phlox said darkly behind him. "It is meant to fall into place in case of danger. And you know what kind of danger I'm talking about, Lieutenant."

Malcolm really hoped that wasn't the case. "Check your medical scanner, Doctor," he instructed. "It would be nice to know that we're not breathing some deadly contaminant."

Giving up on his search for a release mechanism, Malcolm reached for his arm pocket. He doubted very much they would be able to raise this barrier very easily; beside the fact that it might not be a good idea. He flipped his communicator open.

"Captain," he paged. To his relief the communicators worked.

"We'll get this out of the way," Archer said, but Malcolm could read on his face how much faith he put in that statement.

"It's not gonna be easy, Capt'n," Trip confirmed in a taut voice.

"You shouldn't, Sir," Malcolm warned. "Not before we are certain that the environment on this side isn't contaminated."

"My scanner works, and is not showing anything," Phlox said, as if on cue. "But it's not sensitive enough to pick up all the substances that might have been released in the air; to make absolutely sure we will have to go to the control centre."

Concern mounted in the Captain's green gaze. As they looked at each other through yet another partition, Malcolm couldn't help having flashes of another Archer, the one who had glared at him from outside the brig, and accused him of treason, and vented at him all that had clawed at his heart.

"Take care of the Doctor," this Archer told him quietly, meaningfully.

There didn't seem to be an 'or else' hanging in the air. Eyes locked on those of his Commanding Officer, for a moment Malcolm was transported to a time when Archer's trust in him was as airtight as Enterprise's docking ports. Perhaps something of it had survived. To hell if he was going to let go of it.

"With my life, Captain," he said deep in his chest.

TBC

Never tired of your comments! :-)


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to all my readers and reviewers. On to the next chapter!

§3§

"This way, Mister Reed."

Malcolm had hardly turned away from the partition than the Denobulan started moving.

"Wait, Doctor."

The glance Phlox shot the hand Malcolm had put on his arm to stop him made him release the grip, instantly reminding him of the Denobulans' dislike for being touched.

"Sorry," he said awkwardly. With a clearing of his throat he recovered his professional poise and added, "We don't know what to expect. I'd better take point."

Phlox tilted his head in composed compliance. "The control centre is at the end of this corridor."

The tone was polite but a bit strained, and Malcolm couldn't help but wonder if that stemmed only from his mindless blunder. How much did Phlox know about his 'betrayal'? How much had Archer told him? He himself had never addressed the issue with the Doctor; but if the man knew about his slowing Enterprise's search, he wouldn't blame him for feeling resentful.

This, however, wasn't the time to have his mind full of questions and doubts. Hand on his phase pistol, Malcolm shifted his eyes to the curving corridor and took his first guarded steps. "What is along this hallway?" he enquired.

Following him, Phlox started to enumerate rooms.

"If I remember correctly," the Doctor began, "there are two labs on the right. On the left, I seem to remember a third, bigger lab, a room with stasis units, and the generator room." He was silent for a few seconds, before adding, "I believe somewhere along the way there is also a toilet room."

"That's good to know," Malcolm said with a glance over his shoulder.

Coming up to the first door, he paused beside it, trying to catch any sounds that might be coming from it. Phlox stopped right in front of it, and Malcolm clenched down on his irritation as he purposefully disregarded the blue eyes that fixed him with curiosity mixed to impatience.

"I believe it is safe to assume that no one with criminal intentions has entered the facility, Lieutenant," the Denobulan commented, after a moment. "I'm afraid that the kind of danger we'll be facing – if any – won't be something you can shoot at."

"It may well be, Doctor," Malcolm calmly replied. "But it's better to be safe than sorry." And waving Phlox behind him, he grabbed his phase pistol and threw the door open; only to find that the room – a lab – was empty.

The corridor curved slightly to the right; with a last glance towards the clear partition, and Trip and Archer looking on from behind it, Malcolm proceeded along the hallway and out of sight of the rest of the team. He repeated the same procedure with the next door, and found himself in another empty lab. Everything seemed clean and in order.

"With all due respect, Lieutenant," Phlox said behind him, his tone getting more exasperated, "we are wasting time. We should go straight to the command centre and make sure the environment is not polluted."

Malcolm didn't particularly like having anybody tell him how to do his job; but in this case he had to admit that Phlox might have a point. His sixth sense still protested quite loudly that he should not overlook anything, but he quieted it by telling it that he would check the other rooms later.

"All right," he acquiesced. "Let's go."

Swivelling on his feet, he turned to exit the room and froze. A man in a white lab coat was standing in the doorway.

"Doctor… Trenton?" Phlox enquired tentatively after a stunned couple of seconds.

The man had a well-manicured white beard and hair that formed a sort of bright halo. White coat, white beard, white hair – Malcolm mused that he made a rather ghostly apparition, although his short and stocky figure was far from what his imagination attached to the word 'ghostly'. From a distance he could not distinguish the colour of the man's eyes, but he could tell that they had a compelling intensity to them.

"Do we know each other?" the Doctor asked in a scratchy voice.

"I am Doctor Phlox; I visited this facility once, about five years ago. I was part of the Interspecies Medical Exchange, before serving as C.M.O. on the S.S. Enterprise."

Malcolm watched Trenton's face, a face that was younger than his white hair would suggest, smooth into a mannered smile.

"Of course. How could I forget."

There was an awkward pause, which lasted but a second. Phlox waved a hand in Malcolm's direction. "This is Lieutenant Reed, Enterprise's Security Officer."

"We were worried about you," Malcolm picked up from there. "Starfleet lost contact with the station a week ago, and we were unable to establish any communication. Even just moments ago no one answered our pages and we had to use entrance codes to let ourselves in. And now an emergency partition has cut us off from the rest of the away party. Is anything going on, Doctor?"

"Going on?" Trenton eyes had shifted unhurriedly to Malcolm. "Nothing is going on. I don't know what you are talking about. I dropped the emergency partition because I noticed that someone had gained entrance to the facility, and feared we had intruders. As to our comm. system, we received no calls, but it is in perfect order."

Malcolm exchanged a quick look with Phlox. The Denobulan seemed somewhat perplexed.

"I'm pretty sure Commander Tucker, our Chief Engineer, will disagree," Malcolm said, returning his focus on Trenton. "Can you lift the partition?" he went on to ask. "The Commander is on the other side with Captain Archer and a couple of my men."

Another subtle smile curved the Doctor's lips, baring, this time, two rows of regular teeth. "This way," he said with a gentle tilt of his head, turning to lead the way.

As they walked further down the corridor, towards the room that Phlox had said would be the control centre, Malcolm unzipped his arm pocket and reached for his communicator.

"Reed to Captain Archer."

"Go ahead," a taut voice came back almost instantly.

"We have found Doctor Trenton, Captain. Everything appears to be in order. We are on our way to the control centre to raise the emergency partition."

"Understood. Archer out."

The terse, military reply had done nothing to conceal the Captain's relief in learning that everything would be fine. Yes, that was Jonathan Archer all right – the man who ran a ship like a family.

A rending flashback pounced upon Malcolm's mind, making him clench his jaw: Archer in the ready room, pressing him to speak, hoping he would offer a viable explanation for what looked like treason. Like a predator, the memory always attacked without forewarning, claws fully extended to rip and ravage. Later, in the brig, Archer had been hard with him, worried about his ship; but at that moment, when he had realised that his Officer had lied to him, his voice had quivered with hurt more than anger. Malcolm had felt the pillars of his world – honour, integrity, loyalty – rock and crumble, and crush him in shame.

He still hated himself for keeping things from his Captain. He – the man appointed to keep Archer from harm – had wounded him, and deeply. Did Archer still consider him part of his _family_? Maybe his relief just now hadn't encompassed his Security Officer's fate. With an inner mirthless huff he realised that after letting down his real father, he had also done the same with this father-figure; but unlike his old man, Jonathan Archer had been proud of him. Brilliant.

Forcefully, Malcolm refocused on the present and on the silence that stood like a fourth presence among them. He supposed that living on a science station with just five other persons was hardly conductive to loquacity, but Doctor Trenton seemed to have no questions for them, no curiosity to satisfy; it was odd, to say the least. Phlox too was keeping quiet, despite his naturally outgoing character. Malcolm sought his eyes to silently question him, but his glance was lost on the Denobulan, too deep in his thoughts to be aware of it.

Reaching the door at the bottom of the corridor, Trenton stopped and turned to give them another look. Malcolm could see now that his eyes were a light brown with speckles of green. They flickered with a glint that betrayed a quick wit; an uncommon intelligence. Well, this was no place for mediocrity. Finally pressing his thumb on a small pad beside the door, Trenton made it swish open.

Malcolm had expected a large room, but the control centre was surprisingly small. A series of monitors lined the far wall, with numbers and information being continually updated. A cup lay abandoned on the desk by one such screen, as if someone had left it in a hurry.

"I'm sorry our arrival disrupted your work," Malcolm said, more to make conversation than anything else.

Trenton flashed him a look. "Unexpected newcomers aren't welcome here," he said directly and without hesitation. He must have realised his tone had been quite harsh, because he added, more gently, "Although no alarm had gone off, I wasn't sure what kind of visitors had entered."

Malcolm was about to point out the fact that he would have done well to arm himself, before coming to investigate what kind of people – friends or foes – had invaded the place, but was anticipated by Phlox.

"How is Doctor Sahak?" the Denobulan asked, a measure of his natural affability returning to his voice. "He was very kind when I came here a few years back. I will enjoy meeting him again."

"I'm sure he will too," Trenton commented, as he approached a computer. With another polite smile he added, "You will join him presently."

He sat down and started punching keys, his fingers flying over the keyboard with impressive speed. Malcolm stared at the podgy hands work, while unintelligible information scrolled by on the screens. Suddenly Trenton stopped, fingers poised in mid-air.

"How silly of me to forget… I'm afraid I can't oblige your wish. As a precautionary measure, once an emergency partition is dropped it cannot be lifted before a few hours have passed."

"How many hours are _a few hours_, Doctor?" Malcolm wanted to know. His stomach muscles were still taut, and he wouldn't relax until they had rejoined with the rest of the away party.

Trenton blinked; then swivelled in his chair to face him. "Five," he said, after a barely perceptible pause.

"Surely there must be a way to override that." Malcolm made to take a closer look at the screen, but Trenton flicked it off.

"Yes, of course," he said. "With at least two deactivation codes." He stood up. "Time to find your friend, Doctor Sahak," he told Phlox, lifting his eyebrows.

Great. Malcolm reached again for his arm pocket and paged the Captain to inform him of the hitch, while in the background Phlox exchanged civilities with Trenton.

"I am sorry, Sir," Malcolm concluded. "I will keep you informed of any developments."

"All right. We won't be going anywhere," Archer replied grimly.

"This way," Trenton said for the second time in the space of a few minutes, that courteous smile of his once again gracing his round features.

They exited the control centre and retraced their steps, with Phlox now enthusiastically launched in one of his monologues on the importance or research into potentially lethal viruses. Malcolm followed the two doctors, hoping he wouldn't have to be spending five hours in the company of people who would undoubtedly carry on talking of things he could only vaguely grasp.

"Ah, the main lab, if I'm not mistaken," Phlox exclaimed, as they came to another nondescript door along the corridor.

"You have a good memory, Doctor," Trenton said. His eyes flickered as he shifted them from Phlox to Malcolm and back again. "Doctor Sahak will be surprised to see you," he said.

The lab door had a conventional handle, and Trenton waved a hand towards it. "Please, you first."

Phlox made to reach for the handle but Malcolm got there first. Denobulan eyes pierced him, and he met them with discomfort; he could read them like a book. All right. He _was_ being a bit paranoid here. Withdrawing his hand, he gave Phlox free access to the door.

A room with dim artificial light appeared. Taking a step inside after Phlox, Malcolm narrowed his eyes, trying to adjust to the semidarkness. Weren't they supposed to find Doctor Sahak in here? Yes, he could discern a form sitting at a chair, with his back to them, in the far corner. He turned to ask Trenton what kind of experiments could be carried out in so little light, and his eyes were drawn to something that had appeared in the Doctor's hand. He might not recognize the model, but its shape was unmistakable, and it was pointing at...

Without a word of warning, Malcolm threw himself hard against the unaware Denobulan, falling with him to the floor. He scrambled for his pistol, but his movements were suddenly sluggish, his limbs not responding. Something was stinging his left shoulder, and twisting his head he saw that a small dart was embedded in it. Even the thought of lifting a hand to extract it cost him an effort.

"Doctor…"

Malcolm tried to form words, but his brain – or perhaps his tongue – would not cooperate. His breathing became quick and shallow, and darkness galloped towards him at full speed. With a clang, his pistol fell from his hand to the floor. As his vision narrowed, he saw Trenton kick it out of Phlox's reach.

There was a sound, coming in distorted waves: his communicator was beeping insistently. "What's the meaning of this?" a voice he barely recognised enquired indignantly.

He never got to hear Trenton's reply.

TBC

You didn't really think I'd give them such an easy time, did you? :-)


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you to all my readers.

§4§

"Yes, sensors can now read their biosigns; they are… immobile."

Of course T'Pol would not give any interpretation of that – Trip mused; but his own heart, despite his inborn optimism, felt heavier at the news.

"And I confirm that the Lieutenant is not answering hails," she concluded.

"Understood. Archer out."

The Captain's face was a rigid mask on which frustration and concern fought for prominence. Trip bit his lip, knowing there wasn't much he could offer him in the way of reassurances.

"I'm sorry, Capt'n," he repeated for the second time, as he went on closely inspecting the first partition – a job that seemed totally futile. "I'll keep tryin', but I fear there's nothin' I can do. These things are designed to be pretty well impregnable. They'd probably withstand even explosives."

"I wouldn't suggest we try that, Sirs," Chang butted in. "Now that the other two corridors are blocked as well, we'd have no cover."

Minutes after Malcolm had paged them to say that they were going to find another doctor so they wouldn't have to wait up to five hours to rejoin, two other emergency walls had dropped, leaving them prisoners – so to speak – of the entrance hall. Relief had reverted to worry. Something was definitely up, and there was nothing worse than not knowing exactly what, and being helpless to do anything about it.

Archer pursed his lips and resumed his silent pacing. Trip followed him for a moment; then shook his head and turned back to his hopeless endeavour.

* * *

His heart was doing something strange. Every few thumps it would miss a beat; then pound loudly back into rhythm. As he slowly came to, Malcolm couldn't dwell on it, though, because his last memory was returning with disturbing vividness, drawing all of his attention and tightening a knot in his gut.

He wondered with some trepidation whether he could move at all; his last sensation, before unconsciousness had claimed him, had been of losing control of his body. To his relief, he managed to roll on his side, but the action sent a wave of pain down his left arm, making him suck in a quick breath.

"Doctor…" he exhaled while the pain began to pulse. He forced his eyelids to cooperate, and the mental image of Trenton holding a weapon was replaced by that – no less disquieting – of Phlox lying face up beside him.

With an effort, Malcolm pushed himself to a sitting position. Damn it, he'd been had – he cursed inwardly as he blinked a few times to try and feel more awake. Left arm dangling limply against his body, he dragged himself closer to Phlox. A dart like the one that was still in his shoulder was embedded in the Doctor's thigh. With a right hand that wasn't very steady, he pulled it out; then he did the same with the one in his left shoulder, sending another wave of pain travelling down his arm. Taking a few deep breaths, he reached under the Denobulan's jaw – provided that was how one checked if a person of his species was still alive. Failure had always been his biggest fear, and now, as he felt for a pulse he couldn't find, it loomed dangerously close.

Just as he was about to succumb to despair, the Doctor groaned and stirred. The rush of relief that spread in an instant from his mad heart to the farthest reaches of his body made his sight cloud again for a brief moment.

"Phlox…"

Had he ever called him by his name before? Malcolm gave the Denobulan a light shake. He supposed in a case like this he could take a few liberties. Phlox groaned and stirred some more; and finally blinked his eyes open.

"Are you all right?" _Now that was a smart question_. "I mean… are you with me?"

Blinking some more, Phlox turned confused eyes on him.

"Lieutenant Reed?"

"Yes, the one and only." _Idiot_ – Malcolm added darkly in his mind. Legs in a loose oval, he leaned forward and rubbed two fingers on his eyes to try and clear his vision. Damn it! Never mind his vision… He should contact the Captain. He reached sluggishly for his left-arm pocket but Phlox's voice, coming a lot stronger and steadier than his own, stopped him in mid-action.

"I'm afraid he took both your communicator and phase pistol."

"Brilliant."

Malcolm's shoulders slumped again. He was feeling pretty rotten. Good thing his stomach was not full.

"Hm. I still have my tricorder, though," Phlox said, somewhat in surprise.

The man sounded as if he had just woken up from a short nap. Malcolm turned to the well-known buzzing sound which signalled that the medical scanner had been switched on. The Doctor was sitting up now, taking readings of him.

"Nasty mix of drugs, he must have used," Phlox muttered after a moment. "But obviously he wasn't expecting a Denobulan." And since Malcolm was looking back numbly, he expounded, "My physiology is less affected by certain drugs that, on the other hand, produce rather severe effects on Humans."

"Lucky you," Malcolm commented in a strained voice, cradling his left arm. Phlox leaned over to take more readings.

"Yes," he said knowingly after a moment. "He made up quite a nasty concoction. You are suffering from a slight arrhythmia," he went on, blue eyes lifting from the scanner. "You should avoid any severe exertions, at least for a few hours, Lieutenant."

He touched Malcolm's shoulder, sending the umpteenth wave of pain travelling down his arm. Malcolm let out a hiss. Shaking his head to clear it of the remaining cobwebs, he tried to put a few straight thoughts together. "What… why…" he wondered, with a frown.

"I thought something was strange about Doctor Trenton," Phlox commented, getting the gist of it. "Now I am sorry I didn't mention it to you. Can you make a fist?" he went on to ask, with a seamless change of focus. His hand moved to Malcolm's left hand.

Malcolm complied. His fingers felt stiff, and moving them caused pain to ripple back up to the base of his neck. "Strange?" he prompted, grimacing. Talking might take his mind off the sharp needles that were running his arm through; but just then Phlox decided to start massaging his sore limb, and he found himself scrunching his eyes shut and biting his lip, stoically clamping down on the groan that threatened to escape his throat.

"Your arm will be sore for a little while; but it's only a temporary irritation, and I prefer to save the few medicines we have brought along, in case we should have a more serious need for them later."

Malcolm grunted an agreement. At least the situation seemed to have melted the ice between them.

"The Doctor Trenton I remembered was different from the man we have met today," the Doctor went on, with another swift change of subject. "It's difficult to pinpoint exactly what… Well, I suppose the man I met five years ago had a much more outgoing and cheerful personality," he continued, ignoring Malcolm's efforts to endure the pain. "And of course his hair was brown, and his voice was not hoarse," he concluded as an afterthought.

"But he is the same man – physically, I mean," Malcolm forced out, cracking his eyes open.

"Oh, definitely."

Phlox stopped his ministrations and studied his patient's face. "How are you feeling?"

Malcolm looked back dumbly for a moment; then let his head fall back. "Do I have to reply?" But knowing the answer to that, he croaked out, "My shoulder and arm hurt, I'm light-headed, and my heart is still doing crazy things."

"You should lie down and rest," Phlox said. "There is nothing…"

When his voice died away, Malcolm looked up again.

"Doctor Sahak," Phlox suddenly exclaimed, jerking his head to a corner of the room.

A lot more nimbly than Malcolm would have credited him to be able to move, the Denobulan jumped to his feet and hurried off. Malcolm grabbed the edge of a chair and pulled himself to a standing position. Things started to swim around him, so he stood still for a moment, waiting for the world to stop. It didn't; but an outraged exclamation from Phlox convinced him to let go of his support, and he stumbled to the corner of the room where, upon entering, he had seen a man sitting.

Trenton had said that they were going to find Doctor Sahak; so the hapless person bound to this chair must be him. The man was slumped forward, which from a distance and in the dim light had given Malcolm the impression that he'd been bent over some work. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing with difficulty. Perspiration covered his brow, above cheeks that were flushed a bright red. His dark hair was damp and matted to his head.

Phlox stood frozen about a metre and a half from him, wide blue eyes taking in every detail. The Denobulan's stillness sent a shiver down Malcolm's spine.

Without taking his eyes off the captive, Phlox reached for his medical scanner. "You should stay away, Mister Reed," he warned darkly.

Malcolm swallowed. Give him any enemy, even one that was taller, or stronger, or better armed: as long as he could see him and fight, he knew he stood a chance. But the kind of enemy that they may be facing here… the enemy that – as the Doctor had said – you could not shoot at… That kind of enemy he feared the most.

He had made a promise, though.

"We're in this together, Doctor," he said, steadying his wobbling self. "Whatever you have to face, I will too."

Phlox turned to give him a very serious look. "It is illogical and unnecessary to both get exposed to whatever sickness ails Doctor Sahak, Lieutenant. And you're not well; I thought I'd told you to-"

"Phlox."

The first name produced the wanted effect, cutting the Doctor off. Malcolm put his good hand to the wall for support and straightened, putting on the best 'Lieutenant Reed's gaze' that he could manage under the circumstances. "I'm not going to leave you, to go off and sleep in a corner." Lifting an eyebrow he added, "Besides, if Doctor Sahak's ailment is contagious, I suppose standing a few metres away will not make much of a difference."

"Phlox?"

Another, much feebler voice made them turn back to the man still tied to his chair. Dark eyes, bright with fever, were taking in the Denobulan as they would a sudden apparition.

"Jason," Phlox said in earnest.

"Is it really you?" Sahak wondered hesitantly. But then, seeing the Denobulan starting to move, he choked out in warning, "Don't touch me!"

Phlox froze again. "I want to untie you," he said gently. "And check what is wrong with you."

"I know what is wrong with me," the other Doctor replied, in between laboured breaths. "Keep away from me."

TBC

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	5. Chapter 5

§5§

"Computer, page Doctor Trenton."

Archer stood rigidly in front of the machine, scowling at it as if it were responsible for the uncooperative replies.

"Doctor Trenton is not available at the moment."

"Computer, page Doctor Kim."

He didn't know why he was still insisting: the answer was always the same. Compulsory behaviour. But he couldn't just stand there and wait for something to happen. He was a man of action. He needed at least to try. So when he had discovered that a rectangular plaque on a wall of the entrance hall hid a computer terminal, he had stuck to it like a limpet to a rock. He'd had no luck raising any of the partitions that cut them off from the rest of the station, but he was prepared to make the computer worth the money Starfleet had spent on it.

"Computer, page Doctor Vinci."

"Doctor Vinci is not available at the moment."

Archer caught Trip's wary blue eyes and wondered whether the Engineer wasn't starting to be concerned about his sanity. It did seem a futile exercise to keep paging these 'unavailable' doctors, hoping that sooner or later one of them would reply. Well, they knew for sure that at least one of them – Trenton – was alive; so the chance was there.

"Capt'n, I don't think you'll get anywhere," Trip finally blurted out, sounding as if he had tried hard and failed to keep the comment to himself.

"There's no harm in trying," Archer bit back irritably. His temper was rather short these days; shorter than he'd like. Certainly shorter than a good Commanding Officer should allow it to be, especially in a situation like this. He sighed, turning his focus back on the job. Maybe he should try something different. "Computer, _locate_ Doctor Trenton." He was determined to try and understand what the hell was going on behind that separating wall.

"Doctor Trenton is currently in..."

The metallic voice suddenly slowed to a distorted groan and broke off. Archer was left staring at the computer with a frown. In the flummoxed silence, his communicator chirped. He reached for it and flicked it open with accustomed ease.

"Archer."

"Captain, the biosigns of Lieutenant Reed and Doctor Phlox are no longer immobile," T'Pol said.

Out of the corner of the eye Archer caught Trip react to the words, standing up from his crouching position and turning expectantly to him. "Where are they?" he enquired.

"Approximately where they were before."

"What about the doctors of the facility," Archer went on. "Can you also read their biosigns? Can you tell where they are?"

T'Pol came back right away. "One of them seems to be with the Doctor and the Lieutenant. Another one is in a different place, alone. I cannot read the other four biosigns."

Yet before, outside the station, the computer had confirmed that there had been six life signs inside. Archer didn't have a good feeling about that. The only explanation he could find was that they might be too faint for Enterprise, from orbit, to pick up.

"Keep an eye on the readings," He instructed his SIC. "And tell me if you see any changes."

"Understood."

Archer pursed his lips. Phlox was once again in a dangerous situation, and he didn't like that. He had grown attached to the alien doctor he had enlisted, spur of the moment, when he'd needed someone who would have a grasp of Klingon physiology. The man had proven to be not only an excellent physician, but a loyal friend. The bruises from his last misadventure hadn't had time to heal yet, when…

"Capt'n."

Archer resurfaced from his abstraction to find Trip beside him. The Engineer threw a quick glance over his shoulder, and the MACOs distanced themselves, recognising the Commander's need for privacy.

"It's goodnews," Trip said encouragingly, keeping his voice low. "At least we know they're alive." His blue eyes studied Archer's face as he added, "Malcolm will take care of Phlox."

"He'd better," Archer replied, in the same hushed tones but with frost in his voice. Bitterness still had the better of him at times, when he least expected it.

Trip brought his hands to his hips and narrowed his eyes. "I don't know what happened between the two of you, because no one will tell me," he said carefully. "But I know Malcolm puts duty above all else."

Archer narrowed his own gaze. "I just hope he knows what his duty _is_," he spat back.

The moment the words were out he regretted them. He was acting like a child, saying things out of spite. The truth – the uncomfortable truth his conscience didn't want to acknowledge – was that Malcolm had hurt more than the trust that had been between them: he had hurt his ego. Reed had made a choice between two commanding officers, and he, Archer, had come out second best. No matter how contrite the man had sounded later, the fact remained that he had chosen Harris over him; had obeyed that shady figure rather than coming straight to his Captain.

Trip was looking at him as if he didn't know him any longer, and Archer's heart clenched painfully. At least – he thought sadly – it meant his heart was still made of flesh; hadn't completely turned to stone.

"You're right. I'm sure he will do his best to protect the Doctor," he amended uncomfortably, averting his gaze from that of the other member of his crew who had made his self-esteem suffer. And deep down he believed it, even though it was so damn difficult to say it out loud.

There was a moment of silence.

"I've got an idea," Trip said.

The sudden change of tone made Archer shift his gaze back to him. The face of his… of _Hernandez_'s Chief Engineer had lit up. Damn it if he had ever seen such sparkle, such intensity on the face of Kelby, the man who had been promoted as Enterprise's Chief of the Engineering Department.

"There must be an internal comm. system in this place," Trip said, determination in his voice. He started scanning the room. "It shouldn't be hard to - There!" he exclaimed, taking long strides towards the entrance door. "I'm pretty sure that's it."

"Sir," Chang's voice suddenly sounded, strangely choked.

Archer turned and his eyes went wide. Four ghostly-looking men had appeared behind the partition wall that cut them off from the left corridor. Palms flat against it, bodies shaking, faces pale and sickly, they looked at them with begging eyes, mouths forming words that no one could hear, yet that echoed way too clearly in Archer's heart.

* * *

"I suspected something," Sahak said feebly, with his eyes closed, "but was too late to stop him."

Being in the main laboratory had its advantages. Phlox had found gloves and masks, and after they had donned them, with the little help that Malcolm, in his far from optimal state, had been able to give him, they had untied the Scientist and laid him down on the floor. It wasn't comfortable, but it was still better than slouching in a chair.

Phlox put a hypospray to the sick man's neck and administered one of the drugs he had wisely kept for emergencies.

"This will ease your symptoms," the Denobulan said, his voice muffled by the mask.

"He was studying the virus of a very malignant strand of encephalitis," Sahak went on in earnest, forcing every word out. "The pathogen was especially interesting, because it would double neural connections, though ultimately it killed the person infected." He grimaced. "I would have never imagined… He thought he'd found a way to alter it and defuse its lethal effects while retaining the mind-enhancing ones."

The sick man fell silent as he tried to catch his laboured breath, and Malcolm closed his eyes against the many possible dreadful developments of Trenton's actions; his mind was already theorising a few.

"You don't mean to tell me he injected you with –"

Phlox's outraged outburst was cut off by a despondent huff.

"Not _me_," Sahak exclaimed, cracking his eyes open. "Himself."

"I take it something went wrong," Malcolm said bleakly.

Sahak's breath hitched in despair. "We didn't know what he had done." He raised a shaky hand and covered his eyes. "His character began to change," he finally managed. "He became restless, hyperactive; but we thought he was being affected by the solitude of life in such a removed outpost. Then one morning…"

Chest heaving with the effort of pumping air into his congested lungs, Sahak paused again.

"You should rest, Jason," Phlox said gently.

The Denobulan looked deeply troubled, and Malcolm could read on his face that he didn't think the Scientist had much of a chance.

"One morning," Sahak resumed feebly, "he hardly seemed the same person. His hair had turned completely white, his voice hoarse. That's when we knew something was seriously amiss. By then, though, it was too late. He was also showing signs of paranoia; had become convinced that we all wanted to kill him."

"Why didn't you alert Starfleet as soon as you suspected something was strange with Trenton?" Malcolm enquired. He kept his tone gentle but didn't refrain from adding what he thought needed to be said. "Even though you believed it was only psychological strain, you should have reported it."

Sahak dropped his hand listlessly and turned sad eyes on him. "This station had become our home, Lieutenant. When you live with the same small group of people for months on end, the bonds you form with them are quite strong. You don't want to hurt anyone's feelings; you implicitly trust you can solve things together."

Malcolm clenched his jaw. Perhaps on Enterprise he should have trusted that they could solve things together and gone to Archer, instead of doing Harris's bidding and hurting his Captain's feelings; though here such a course of action didn't seem to have come to any good.

"His mental abilities have indeed compounded," the man went on, drawing Malcolm out of his reflections. "He was able to escape our attempts to confine him; has disabled the comm. system, messed up the computer…"

Yes, there had been an unusual glint in Trenton's eyes; Malcolm remembered thinking that it had indeed revealed an impressive mind.

"What happened to you and the others?" he asked, though he didn't really want to know. He instinctively clutched his mask closer to his mouth and nose.

"He infected us with a new virus of his own creation, an altered pathogen, and locked us up in a storage room." Sahak forced his eyes open and sought Phlox. "We managed to pick the lock and decided that one of us should try to come here and work on an antidote. I was chosen. But he caught me and…" Once again the Scientist had to pause for breath. "I don't know if the others are still alive," he concluded hardly above a whisper.

His eyes drifted closed again, and soon he had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

TBC

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	6. Chapter 6

Thank you for keeping up with this story.

§ 6 §

Phlox wasted no time. No sooner had Sahak drifted off into unconsciousness than he jumped to his feet and went to the desk where the Scientist had been working. Malcolm followed the Denobulan, rubbing his left arm. The pain had started to subside, and although his heart was still skipping beats, he felt more alert, which was what he most cared about.

Malcolm watched Phlox flip through some notes left on a padd., while a frown came to crease his brow. "What I don't understand is why Trenton knocked us out, when he has such a more powerful weapon at his disposal," he reasoned.

"He probably didn't synthetise enough," Phlox replied. "Besides, close contact with Doctor Sahak will undoubtedly result in us getting infected as well."

He touched the screen with his gloved index, and it flicked to life. Leaning with both hands on the desk, he narrowed his eyes as he delved into numbers and diagrams which to Malcolm meant next to nothing. Soon he had slid into the chair and was lost to the world. Minutes ticked by in total silence. Beside him, Malcolm was beginning to feel a bit too useless, when Phlox suddenly stilled and his face darkened, the mask the Doctor was still wearing over his mouth and nose unable to conceal the change that had come over it.

"What is it?" Malcolm's voice was stifled by his own protective device and he fidgeted with it, tempted to remove it.

"It's the structure of the virus Trenton created, and Sahak's preliminary research."

Malcolm shook his head at the misunderstanding. "What did you just see on that screen that has sent your worry up a few notches?" he enquired directly. Something bad had definitely caught Phlox's attention, because the look on his face had been matched by a glum tone of voice.

Phlox twisted to look him in the face and Malcolm moved a step back, his muscles tensing. He didn't need more bad news.

"I was a bit too quick in dismissing Trenton's concoctions as harmless, for a Denobulan," the Doctor explained. "My specie's blood just so happens to contain an enzyme that would make his newly-created pathogen very happy indeed. If I catch the illness, the virus will _have a feast_ – as Commander Tucker would put it – and multiply unrestrainedly."

There was no mirth in Phlox's voice to accompany the light choice of words.

"Bloody hell," Malcolm let out softly, as his mind already raced for ways to counteract the danger. He straightened his shoulders. "You will have to stay away from the contagion," he said firmly. "I'm sure that one way or the other I can get the better of the lock and –"

"If you think I'm going to abandon somebody who needs my professional help, Lieutenant, you are wrong."

Malcolm felt the outraged words like a slap across the face. His vision clouded for a brief moment as his heart gave a louder thump. A nasty little voice in his mind had lost no time in suggesting that Phlox's outburst might have a second, but not secondary, meaning.

"My job is to keep you safe," he countered instinctively, with a self-assurance he did not feel.

_Not the cleverest remark, after you left him in the hands of those Klingons_ – that nasty voice commented in sarcasm. This was like begging to be attacked. He averted his eyes, preparing for cutting words that never came.

"Mine is to restore people to health," the Doctor simply said, with his same determination. "And I'd expect you to take Doctor Sahak's life just as much at heart as mine, Lieutenant."

Malcolm shook his head with force. "I'm not planning on abandoning anyone to their fate, if I can at all help it," he said in earnest. "But if this virus is especially dangerous to you-"

"Thank you, Mister Reed, but the answer is no."

A door had been slammed in his face. That left him no options. There was nothing he could do but stand by the stubborn man. _With my life_, he had told Archer. Well, there was a good chance it would come to that.

"If you don't mind, Mister Reed, I have work to do," Phlox said, not unkindly, as he turned back to the computer screen. "And you should follow your Doctor's orders and rest," he added meaningfully after a moment.

Malcolm blew out a frustrated breath. Rest was the last thing on his mind.

* * *

Two of the people behind that clear screen had collapsed to the floor. Archer watched in dread as the legs of a third one gave out from under him, the palm of his hand sliding slowly down the partition as he fell to his knees; a moment later he too was an unconscious form on the ground. Only one was left standing, and he looked back at him with haunted eyes, disturbingly immobile.

"Trip, can you get that comm. system to work?" Archer asked in a hoarse grumble, unable to break the link with that compelling gaze. It was as if the person was drawing the very strength to stand from him, and might collapse to the floor like his colleagues, if he so much as turned away.

"I'm tryin', Capt'n," the Engineer's frustrated voice came from behind. "I think somebody has messed with it, damnit."

It just went to add to the list of suspicious things in the station.

Archer raised his hands in a reassuring gesture. "We are trying to fix the intercom," he said, shaping the words slowly and clearly.

The man's gaze tracked to his lips; then back up to his eyes. He wasn't tall, but well-proportioned; indeed, well-built. He must be close to forty – Archer mused – and looked quite fit; but he was breathing with difficulty, his chest heaving with the effort. His face was pale and even through the screen that separated them Archer could see the sheen of perspiration that covered it.

He cast an impatient look over his shoulder. "Trip."

"I think I'm almost there, Capt'n."

Archer took a few slow steps forward. If it weren't for that thin partition, he and that person could have touched. He let his eyes fall briefly to the tag on the man's lab coat: it said 'Doctor Vinci'. He couldn't imagine what must be going through the Doctor's mind, through his heart. So close and yet so distant, almost as far apart as on two different worlds; for it was clear that before knowing what was wrong with the four men they should take care not to breathe the same air; even provided they could get the wall to lift.

Suddenly Vinci blinked, his eyes losing focus. He wavered, fighting a bout of dizziness, or weakness.

"Stay with us," Archer muttered in frustration, under his breath. "Trip!" He cast another urgent look over his shoulder.

"Sorry, Capt'n, but..."

Archer banged one hand flat on the partition. As if in slow motion, the man twisted on himself and fell limply to the floor.

* * *

He didn't have very much time. That Lieutenant looked dangerous, and the virus would take a bit to work. He'd do his little job and leave by the emergency exit.

Trenton sat at the computer in the control centre and typed his password to access a restricted area, striking the enter key with a determined tap.

"Please state your name and pronounce your alpha-numerical identity," the metallic voice requested.

"Doctor Alexander Trenton. DGH-630-FT-96"

"Please stand by."

Trenton leaned back in his chair. They had tried to close on him, like a pack of wolves – first Sahak; then the others – but he wasn't a helpless prey. They wanted him dead, because he was cleverer. But because he was cleverer, _they_ would be the ones who'd end up dead, instead. The irony of it made him guffaw into a chuckle.

All right – he thought, his smile falling as he tapped his fingers nervously on the desk, waiting. The arrival of those people complicated things a bit, but it confirmed his suspicions: yes, they wanted him dead. Sahak must have called in the cavalry when he had realised that he stood no chance, because he – Doctor Alexander Trenton – was _better_. _Cleverer_.

His esteemed colleagues must be close to whatever afterlife they believed in, by now; and that alien Doctor and the Lieutenant would follow them soon enough. As for the others…

The computer asked for a second password, and the corners of Trenton's mouth crawled back up. It had been so easy to get Vinci's password. The man was so damn soft it wasn't funny. All it had taken to win his trust was to go along with his idea that they were a _family_. Brothers. That's what they were, after so many years of life together, weren't they? He gave another chuckle. Except that brothers aren't always good to one another. Jealous. Brothers are often jealous. They had been jealous of his achievement, and had wanted to kill him. He couldn't allow that, definitely not.

Trenton entered the second password.

"Please state your name and pronounce your alpha-numerical identity."

And now his masterpiece. Trenton picked up a padd. and pressed a button.

"Doctor Pietro Vinci. JEO-466-ZX-29"

"Stand by."

"Yes, darling," Trenton muttered. "But hurry up."

* * *

It was warm. They had been locked in that lab for only four hours, but Malcolm was already feeling a bit claustrophobic. One knee on the floor, he wiped a sleeve over his brow and studied once more the lock of the door that held them prisoner. It didn't seem particularly difficult to pick, but he had no tools, not even a bloody screwdriver. He was sure that if Trip had been there he would have had the better of it already; the Engineer always carried something handy with him.

Not that Phlox had any intention of leaving the lab. He was bent over a microscope, analysing the blood sample he had taken from Sahak and looking like nothing would distract him from his job. But while the Doctor was at it, Malcolm wasn't going to stand around twiddling his thumbs. If he could get out, he might be able to find Trenton. The man should be rendered harmless. The thought of someone as dangerous as Trenton loose in the station, while he was locked in there unable to prevent him from harming any more people, namely Archer and the others, drove him crazy.

Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw Phlox straighten up, and turned to him. The physician rubbed two fingers on his eyes. He looked tired – he thought – and quite concerned.

"Found anything?" Malcolm asked.

Phlox sighed. "Trenton altered the virus of a disease that ran rampant on the lunar colony six years ago. It caused a lot of casualties, as you may remember; but was contained in the end. He's made it resilient to the cure the Doctors had developed."

Malcolm pushed to a standing position. "Do you think you can do something about it?" He remembered that outbreak quite well. It had begun after a visit from a Vulcan delegation that had returned from deep-space travel.

"It would be nice if I could access the main medical database, where all the information about the original pathogen is undoubtedly stored. I'm sure Doctor Sahak consulted it, but it appears that Trenton has cut the lab computers off from the station's network." Phlox frowned. "Trenton might even have a cure for his altered virus already," he reasoned. "He would've taken precautions, in case he got the disease. If he has developed a cure, he must have left trace of it somewhere."

"I must get out of here," Malcolm muttered. He strode purposefully to the desk where Phlox was working and started pulling drawers, looking once again for something that might help him break the door lock.

"Before you leave this room we should make sure Captain Archer and the rest of the away party are still in the entrance hall." Phlox shot him a very serious look. "We've been exposed to the pathogen, and we must keep away from them until – hopefully – we find a way to counter it."

Malcolm considered the words; then returned to his search. "It's all connected, Doctor. If I don't get out of here and make it possible for you to access the database – or find Trenton's own notes – you won't have a cure. If you don't have a cure, we can't get back to the Captain and the rest of the crew." He pulled out what looked like an old-fashioned syringe and looked at it; the needle was certainly thicker than he'd like it to be if it ever were to be used on himself... "And we should warn them about Trenton, anyway," he added, wincing. "The last thing I remember telling the Captain was that everything was fine."

Phlox suddenly banged a flat hand on the desk. "Will people never learn?" he burst out in anger. "First those Klingons, and now Trenton: both wanting to enhance their abilities, and look at the results!" His blue eyes flashed with fury.

Malcolm froze. He couldn't remember seeing Phlox lose his temper like this, during all the time he had known him. The pressure the Doctor had been under lately was obviously beginning to take its toll. A new wave of guilt washed over him.

Phlox pinched his nose and closed his eyes, and Malcolm suddenly feared there might be an added reason for his uncharacteristic behaviour.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, worry tensing his voice.

The blue eyes opened again. "It doesn't matter," Phlox replied, much more calmly. "As long as I can work."

A lump formed unbidden in Malcolm's throat. "Did they hurt you?" he asked hoarsely. He blinked, but held Phlox's questioning gaze. "When you were in the hands of those Klingon, did they hurt you?"

His voice had gone deep, and vibrated with more emotion than he would have liked to let through. Well, it had to come up, sooner or later. That nasty voice never left him in peace, and he was going to silence it, once and for all.

"I was beaten," Phlox replied after what seemed like ages, ill-at-ease. "I wasn't going to help them create Klingon Augments. It wasn't very serious," he dismissed, breaking eye contact, and making to return to his work.

"I'm sorry I delayed your rescue," Malcolm forced out.

He was tired of keeping things inside. He needed Phlox's absolution. Or even his condemnation; but he wanted to clear the air between them.

The Denobulan silently turned back to him.

"Before Enterprise, when I was just an Ensign, I worked..." Malcolm pursed his lips, looking for the right words, "... in a different section of Starfleet. Covert operations," he eventually admitted. "After you were abducted, I was contacted by my former commanding officer, who ordered me to slow down Enterprise's search." It was hard not to shy away from Phlox's intense and unblinking eyes, but he managed. "He told me you were on an important mission for Earth."

Malcolm felt his blood boil at the thought of how easily Harris had manoeuvred him. He averted his gaze, crossing his hands over his chest. "I knew nothing of the Klingons' attempt to create Augments," he said, in cold anger. "I was convinced I was doing the right thing. I was a fool," he admitted in discomfort.

There was a long moment of silence.

"It isn't me you have to apologise to, Lieutenant," Phlox eventually said. "I was useful to those people, in the end."

"If I had known you were in any kind of danger..." Malcolm trailed; he narrowed his eyes. "We might have our disagreements but I hope you know I consider you my friend."

Phlox gave him a long look.

"I never doubted that, Mister Reed," he said quietly. "As I said, it's not me you have to convince."

With that, and a last glance, he returned to his microscope. Malcolm watched him for a moment, feeling the weight on his heart was just as heavy as before. Convincing Archer that he could still be trusted was another matter.

With a sigh, he picked up the syringe and turned to his own job.

TBC

I hope I got Phlox's response in character. Please let me know what you think.


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks for your comments, I'm very glad you liked how I wrote Phlox in the last chap. And now, a bit of action...

§ 7 §

"Tucker to Reed."

Malcolm who, armed only with good-will and courage, had but taken five steps into the corridor, froze, the unexpected sound of a voice calling him sending a shot of adrenalin through his system.

"Malcolm, can you read me?"

Looking frantically around, he spotted the intercom on the wall and sped to it, pressing buttons randomly. "Commander?" he tried, under his breath.

"There you are," Trip's taut voice came back. "What's going on, where are you? We've-"

"Keep your voice down," Malcolm interrupted him urgently. "I'm trying not to be conspicuous, here. Nice to hear from you, though," he added in the pause that followed. Not that Trip and the rest of the party could do anything; but even only vocal contact was nice to have.

"Are you two all right?"

That was Archer, and Malcolm's body automatically adjusted to the voice of his Captain. "More or less, Sir."

Glancing warily down the corridor in both directions, he explained the situation in as few words as he could. "I'm afraid Doctor Phlox is already showing a few symptoms, Captain," he concluded glumly.

Phlox's health had definitely begun to worsen. He looked fatigued and had developed a cough. Sahak's difficult breathing had been a worrisome wheezing by the time Malcolm had left the lab, and he was afraid Phlox would soon follow suit.

"I'm on my way back to the control centre, to try and get Phlox the information he needs," he said in hushed tones, all senses alert for any movement or sound. "And while I'm at it, I'm hoping to find Trenton. I'm quite certain he has a cure."

"How can we help?" Archer enquired, and by the defeated tone of his voice Malcolm could tell he had already answered his own question.

"I'm afraid there is nothing you can do, Sir," he confirmed. "You ought to keep away from us; at least until we know for certain that this virus can be countered."

There was an eloquent pause. Archer was never happy when he had to stand at the side while his crew was in danger. Malcolm could picture his taut face and pained gaze.

"Be careful, Lieutenant."

"Aye, Captain. Reed out."

His heart had stopped its mad rhythm, but was thumping loudly in his chest as Malcolm made his careful way towards the door at the end of the corridor.

Passing a hand through his hair to push an unruly lock back, it came away damp. Something heavy was settling in the middle of his chest, and he straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath to try and lift it, stopping in mid-action when a dull pain stabbed his side.

Bloody hell. Not him too.

Never mind. The control centre was there in front of him now. Pushing his fears aside, he took the last few steps to the door, wondering how he could get past it. Brute force? This wasn't going to be easy. Malcolm silently cursed a blue streak, wishing he had his phase pistol. Maybe he should just ring the bell – he mused dryly. Although… why not? If Trenton was in there, which was more than likely, he might even be tempted to open, if only to see who was still on his feet and came to challenge him… A bit of a reckless approach, admittedly, given that he was unarmed, but what other choice did he have?

A few seconds after he had pressed the button, Trenton's wary voice came indeed back.

"Who's there?"

Malcolm flattened against the wall. Time ticked by. He could picture the man inside, white eyebrows furrowing over his clever eyes, weighing his options. He counted on the fact that Trenton might have the cleverest mind but was not reasoning straight. From what he could tell, the man felt very sure of himself, almost invincible. The hell if he hadn't experienced it himself a few times, at the height of some dangerous action. Right now Trenton must be annoyed that someone was still in his way, and eager to finish off whomever that was. His self-assured self must be arguing that sooner or later he'd have to open the door, so it might as well be now.

Indeed, with a sudden swish, that's exactly what happened. Malcolm tensed, but didn't move. Once again seconds ticked by in total silence.

Damn it, should he fear a weapon, considering he could already feel the virus working in him? It was now or never.

Lunging through the opening, Malcolm rolled on the floor, narrowly avoiding a couple of his own phase pistol's blasts. He ended in a crouch, conveniently within arm's reach of a chair, and he gave it a good shove, sending it to roll violently into Trenton.

The man tottered, his eyes wide with surprise. Malcolm didn't give him a chance to recover: with a jab to the jaw, he sent him stumbling back, and crushing onto the desk. A moment later he had regained possession of his weapon, and was on top of Trenton. Grabbing him with both hands by the front of his coat, he gave him a vigorous shake.

"You thought you'd got rid of me, didn't you?" he spat inches from his face and in his darkest voice. "Well, think ag-"

White pain erupted through Malcolm's skull when Trenton's forehead violently butted on his nose. His sight clouded, and he never saw the kick which took his legs out from under him. Rolling to get out of range, he let a feral growl escape his throat. A good fight was just what he needed to release some of the pent-up tension of the last few weeks. He felt his blood rush, his muscles readying themselves for action. A foot connected painfully with his ribcage, but through the stars that were still dancing before his eyes he managed to see a leg, and grabbed it angrily. Soon they were grappling on the floor.

The Doctor was surprisingly strong, and obviously not helpless in a fight, but was no real threat for someone fully trained in hand-to-hand, and as motivated as Malcolm. It didn't take him long to land a couple of well-placed and thoroughly satisfying punches. Trenton lay panting on the floor, blood flowing freely from his nose.

On his knees beside him, Malcolm touched his own face, wincing; his nose was bleeding too. The damn man might have broken it, for it hurt like hell. Blinking against the pain, he pushed to a standing position; then, for the second time, he grabbed Trenton by the front of his coat, and pulled him up, shoving him unceremoniously onto a chair. The Doctor slid forward, mildly stunned, one hand cradling his jaw. Malcolm cast a quick glance around, for something with which to restrain him, but nothing apt to the task was in sight.

"Do you have a cure for the virus you have infected us with?" he enquired harshly, as he carefully dabbed his bloody face on a sleeve. In the fight he had lost his pistol, and he cast a futile glance around for it while he tried to recoup his strength. The physical action had tired him more than it should have. He was feeling the pull of each difficult breath he took, and it made him sufficiently mad to extract the information from Trenton any way necessary.

"A cure?" Trenton let out a wicked laugh, at the end of which he turned dead serious. "Certainly not," he added, rubbing his sore jaw.

Dropping his arm, Malcolm let his eyes go icy. "I don't believe you," he countered, forcing a calm – if threatening – tone. "You would have taken precautions in case you got the contagion." He regarded the stocky man none too benevolently. "You'd better share the information willingly, because I promise you: one way or the other, I will get it. Besides, by now I suspect you will need the antidote too."

"You and that alien doctor should have remained beyond the emergency partition, like the rest of your party," Trenton simply commented. An evil grin stole over his face. "Though come to think of it, it doesn't make much of a difference. The end result will be the same." His eyes flickered for the briefest of moments to the desk, at Malcolm's back.

Trenton looked tense. And Malcolm's sixth sense told him it wasn't because he feared getting sick. Actually, the man looked _excited_. Malcolm felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He took a careful step to get behind Trenton's chair, so he could see what was on the desk without turning his back on his enemy; but as soon as he moved, the Doctor jumped up and lunged forward to press a command on the keyboard. Malcolm restraining hand was a moment too late. A klaxon started blaring.

"Self-destruct mode engaged. Attention all personnel: evacuate the station. Countdown has started. Attention all personnel..."

Malcolm felt his blood run cold. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he spat out. He grabbed the Doctor's shoulder and turned him abruptly. As if by magic that strange weapon Trenton had used before, in the main lab, was in his hand again. The hell if he'd give him the chance to use it again, though. Malcolm struck out, and this time his punches had added weight; this time he hit to stun, rather than to defend. Trenton's head flew back a couple of times, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

A message was flashing urgently on the computer screen, asking authorisation to lift the emergency partitions. He disregarded it and shifted his gaze to the far-from-reassuring countdown that had appeared on it, realising with a shiver that they had little less than twenty minutes to get the hell out of the place.

_They_? A mirthless huff escaped his lips. He and the rest of the infected people could not join the leaving party. Not unless he found Trenton's cure first. Because – by golly – he would bet his last bottle of beer that the man had one. The Doctor was far too clever to risk getting caught in his own net.

"Tucker to Reed."

Trip's taut voice overlapped the recorded message and blaring alarm. Malcolm glanced up towards the intercom on the wall, torn between answering the hail and searching the database for anything useful. Phlox had given him instructions on what to look for.

"Malcolm!"

His breathing was laboured; sweat trickled down his cheek; blood was still flowing from his nose. And his brain was in overdrive. Malcolm wiped an impatient arm over the side of his face and started towards the comm. His foot connected with something, and to his relief he saw it was his phase pistol. Picking it up, he closed the gap to the wall.

"I got Trenton, but not soon enough," he said fast and furious, cutting to the core. "You have about eighteen minutes to get away. Less even; you'll have to use the shuttle parked outside the station and lift off a good five minutes before the explosion, if-"

"I'm not leaving without you two," Archer butted in firmly. "Get Phlox and-"

"Hell, Captain, do you think I like the idea of blowing up on this God-forsaken planet?" Malcolm burst out, his accent sharp and clipped. "Let me tell you, _Sir_: I'd be more than glad to go with you; but we cannot risk spreading an incurable virus to the entire crew!"

Heaving a painful deeper breath, he closed his eyes and bit his lip. In a sudden flash he realised that he was spewing out all the bitterness that was buried deep inside him. A part of him really resented Archer for retaining hard feelings towards him. He might have messed up royally, but the man should know it had been in good faith. Well, admittedly this might not be the way to get back into the Captain's graces; but there was a very good chance he wouldn't live long enough to regret it.

"Phlox will find a way," Archer insisted darkly, after a stunned pause.

"Phlox might not be in a condition to help himself, let alone the crew," Malcolm bit back, frustration sending his voice to the cellar. He was wasting precious seconds. "Check that shuttle _now_; it might be locked and need extra warming-up, if it hasn't been used for a while. Five minutes before the explosion, whether we are with you or not, you must lift off," he all but ordered. "Reed out."

"Malcolm, we'll evacuate; but get the computer to raise the damn partition and let me help you!"

Good old Trip. Malcolm smiled a bittersweet smile that turned into a grimace when it pulled on his aching nose.

"Sorry, Commander," he croaked out, past a lump in his throat. "That wouldn't make me a very good friend."

"Malcolm!"

Leaving the wall and the soft curses that the intercom was faithfully carrying over to him, Malcolm returned to the computer, sparing a glance in Trenton's direction, to make sure he wouldn't play him any more dirty tricks. The man was still out cold.

TBC

Okay, Malcolm will blow up, Phlox will blow up, and Archer will have terrible pangs of conscience for thinking his Armoury Officer a traitor. :-)


	8. Chapter 8

§ 8 §

_Damn it, Lieutenant, get your act together! _

Malcolm shifted his eyes away from the relentless numbers on the count-down clock, which were not helping him keep the calm he needed. Haste was never a good ally, especially under pressure. Leaving that screen, where the request to lift the emergency partitions was also still flashing urgently, he rolled his chair over to another computer and called up the medical database. It was larger than he had imagined.

He gave it a glance-over, the unfamiliar medical terms appearing like a blurred mumbo jumbo. His brain seemed to be always a step ahead of his eyes – or maybe it was the opposite. Never mind. It was no use getting Phlox the info on that Lunar colony virus at this point. But perhaps he should save the database for future reference, though, in case by some miracle they made it out of there alive. Looking around frantically, he saw a stack of padds and took one randomly, hoping he wouldn't erase some vital information, and that it had enough memory.

After starting the download he moved on to searching the network for the latest research carried out at the station. If Trenton had worked on a cure, as Phlox had said some trace of that work should have remained. More unfamiliar terms popped up, and he scrolled through them, rubbing an absent hand on his chest. The weight there was definitely bothersome now, and anxiety had increased his heart rate, which wasn't helping his breathing. His lungs felt like two wet sponges and sweat dripped down his back, but he forced his mind away from his physical lack of well-being and tried to remember what Phlox had said about the virus. Blood-transmitted... Air-transmitted... Genetic… bloody hell! Why was his mind so empty? It must be that pathogen.

The deafening sound of the recorded message and alarm had not stopped for one second. Focussing was a real challenge. Malcolm's eyes shifted of their own accord to the countdown on the other screen: 15:34, 15:33, 15:32... A sudden moan prompted him to turn: Trenton was blinking back to consciousness.

_Forget the damn computers_. In a flash he was on his feet and on top of him.

"Look, I doubt you planned to actually blow up with this station, right?" he growled. "But unless you give me that cure, that's exactly what's going to happen, because I refuse to spread an incurable infection to other people, especially my crew."

He made sure that if Trenton's unfocused eyes missed the deadly look on his face, his tone of voice conveyed it full well.

Trenton blinked some more and, coming out of his confusion, shifted his gaze to the countdown.

"Do you have a cure or don't you?" Malcom pressed, seeing for the first time anxiety make an appearance in the man's eyes.

Trenton reached with a trembling hand into his lab coat, and Malcolm's hand flew to his phase pistol; but the Doctor only produced a padd.

"In here is the genetic map of the altered virus, and the way to counteract it," Trenton said hoarsely.

Malcolm's mouth went dry. Could it be so simple? The change from defiant to compliant had been a bit too sudden; it might be a ruse. He licked his lips.

"How do I know you are telling me the truth?" he barked. He had to make sure. _He had to make sure_.

"You don't," Trenton replied impatiently. "Obviously you'll have to trust me."

"I don't trust snakes," Malcolm spat out. "Get to your feet and come with me."

Lifting the Doctor bodily from the chair his sight fogged for a moment; but there was no way he was going to yield to weakness now. Clenching his jaw, he dragged the man out of the control centre and along the corridor, back to the main laboratory.

Phlox, still sitting at the desk, had collapsed with his face on top of it, and didn't look good at all. Sahak was unconscious. Malcolm rushed to the Denobulan and put a hand on his shoulder, while still holding Trenton firmly with the other.

"Phlox!" he called, shaking him.

A low moan was his answer. The Denobulan's eyes fluttered open for a brief moment; then closed again.

"Phlox! I need you to wake up!"

Trenton twisted forcibly out of his grip; Malcolm instantly reached for his pistol.

"There is no time, you fool!" the Doctor shouted, eyes wild with fear shifting from the weapon to Malcolm's face. "Let's raise the partition and get out of here!"

Malcolm narrowed his eyes cuttingly. "I'm not leaving anyone behind," he said in his darkest voice. "And I still don't know whether you are telling me the truth about that cure."

There was a moment of silence, as they sized each other up. Trenton brought a hand to his neck, and it was then that Malcolm realised the Doctor was breathing heavily, and that beads of perspiration covered his brow. Was he getting ill too?

The thought must have shown on his face, because Trenton croaked out, "Yes, it seems I got infected too. That should convince you I'm not lying." He broke into a nervous laugh which had no mirth in it at all. "If I didn't have a cure, would I ask to leave the station? I don't know about you, but I'd rather be blown to pieces in an instant than slowly suffocate."

Malcolm quelled the part of him that wanted to believe him. He had to make sure. He couldn't take any chances. Trenton's short breath and perspiration might only be the result of his fear regarding the destruction of the station. He might have immunised himself against the virus, and be trying to trick him into letting him out of the station.

"Show me what's on that padd.," he ordered harshly.

Trenton switched it on, called up some file, and handed it over with a shaking hand.

"Get down on your belly, hands behind your head." Malcolm sped up the procedure with a shove to the Doctor's back.

He tried to focus on the padd., but his sight was swimming. The pain radiating from his nose through his skull was beating in rhythm with every pounding throb of his heart. How the hell was he going to make sure...

_His communicator! _He had found it in the control centre, abandoned on a desk, and had absent-mindedly put it in his pocket.

"Reed to Enterprise."

"Lieutenant."

Hoshi's voice was like a breath of fresh air.

"Ensign, I'm uploading some medical information; I need T'Pol to look at it _urgently_. It should contain the genetic map of a virus and the way to counteract it. Ask her to compare the pathogen with the one that infected the lunar colony six years ago. There should be similarities. Fast!" he insisted. "We only have about ten minutes before the station self destructs."

"Right away, Sir," Hoshi's tense voice replied.

Seconds ticked by, and they were the slowest of Malcolm's life. Finally T'Pol's voice sounded.

"Lieutenant, everything that you said is correct. The pathogen shows similarities with the one that struck the lunar colony."

Malcolm closed his eyes; but it still wasn't enough. "Do you think you can synthesise the cure?" he enquired, silently crossing his fingers. "Phlox has been infected and is in no condition to do it."

"I don't anticipate any problems," the serene Vulcan voice came back.

"Start working on it, then, Commander," Malcolm instructed. "We'll need it, and in quantity."

He cut the conversation unceremoniously, and made another page.

"Reed to Archer." He didn't wait for a reply. "I have the cure. I'll raise the partitions. Carry the doctors onto the shuttle, and have one of the MACOs come to get Trenton into custody. If Trip is still willing, I could use his help, now."

"On our way," the Captain came back.

The next moment a red beam split the air. "Sorry," Malcolm muttered to the unconscious Trenton, as he replaced the phase pistol in its holster. He needed to have his hands free; and a stun blast had never killed anyone.

_Hang in there, Phlox_ – he silently told the Denobulan – _We're getting out of here_.

His legs felt like lead as he rushed back to the control centre. According to his calculations they had about eight minutes left, before the station blew up.

He ran into the room, pushed the chair out of the way and glanced at the count-down: 8:08... 8:07... Sometimes he wished he wasn't so bloody good at keeping time – despite what Archer had thought, that time with the Romulan mine. Though he could have erred on the short side, and then it would've been even worse.

Bending over the desk, he authorised the computer to lift the emergency partitions. He was already flying out of the door again, when he remembered the medical database. He stopped the download – finished or not –, grabbed the padd., and was out of the room again.

"Malcolm!"

Trip hadn't wasted any time.

Malcolm wanted to shout to him, but had not enough breath left for that. A moment later, the Engineer and Romero appeared, barrelling down the corridor. Trip's eyes took him in, and Malcolm realised by the look on his face that he must be a real sight.

"Come with me," he said tersely, giving the Engineer no time to speak.

Back in the lab, Trenton was still out cold; Malcolm pointed him out to the MACO. "Carry that man to the shuttle," he ordered. "And keep an eye on him; he's not to be trusted." Romero nodded sharply and obeyed.

Trip took a quick look around and immediately spotted Phlox. As he started towards him, Malcolm put a hand out to stop him. "I'll carry him," he gasped out. He jerked his chin in the direction of Sahak. "There is your charge."

Trip's eyes took stock of him once again, and it was clear what he was thinking. "This man looks a lot lighter," he suggested. But Malcolm's gaze didn't waver. "Come on," he told him. "No time to argue."

As he struggled with the Denobulan's weight on his shoulder along that seemingly interminable corridor towards the exit, Malcolm had time to curse his foolish stubbornness more than once. It had been a childish thing, wanting to carry Phlox to safety himself. He had thought he could make it, but when he started to stagger, his sight darkening worrisomely, he knew he had asked a bit too much of his weakened body.

"Hey, don't make me regret my compliance," Trip's distorted voice egged him on, from the side.

A strong hand gripped Malcolm's arm, allowing him to regain his balance.

"Thanks," Malcolm gasped, pushing back the shadows that had threatened to swallow him.

"You'd better give the Doctor to me, Lieutenant," a voice that had no Southern accent replied.

Archer lifted Phlox from his shoulder and they finally were at the exit. The shuttle's engine was the most beautiful sound Malcolm had heard in a long time.

"Let's go, let's go!" Archer shouted.

When it happened, they were still gaining altitude. The shockwave rocked the shuttle violently. Trip at the helm struggled to hold the vessel on course; then, like a bird taking the wind, the little ship soared and finally stabilised. There was a collective sigh of relief.

Archer, at navigation, looked around, and Malcolm followed his gaze. The back of the shuttle was like a medical ward, bodies stretched out on both benches and on the floor. The Captain turned to him, and their eyes met. They silently looked at each other, too tired – or numb, or ill-at-ease – to speak.

The green gaze was still on his when Malcolm's eyelids finally yielded to gravity and he relinquished consciousness.

TBC

One more chapter to go. Please leave a review.


	9. Chapter 9

Here is the last chapter of this adventure. A heartfelt thank you to all my readers and reviewers.

§ 9 §

Archer stood in the middle of sickbay, behind the privacy curtain that was partially drawn around two beds, feeling a little lost.

It was not something he was used to – feeling lost.

Back at the time when he and Duval had been rivals for that first Warp 2 flight, he had been so damn certain of himself. He had known that he had what it took to make a good Starfleet Captain: courage, self-assurance, leadership. And he _had_ been a good Captain; even in the most difficult circumstances, during the Expanse. He had accomplished his mission and saved Earth to the sacrifice of himself - _himself_ as in character, ethics, friends…

Now, though, as he looked at two particular bio-beds and the people who lay on them, he felt none of that self-assurance. Was he still a good Captain? Did he still have what it took? For the good of his crew, he had to ask himself that.

Maybe the Expanse had burned him. Maybe, as the sacrificial victim of that mission he, as a Captain, had expired, given his last breath; and should resign.

The question had hovered at the fringe of his consciousness for a while, but he had always pushed it back. Now, maybe, it was time he addressed it.

Lately he had let his pride have the better of him. He had been mad when Trip had left Enterprise; and furious when Malcolm had deceived him. And in both cases his anger had stemmed mostly from the fact that he had put himself at the centre of the picture as the offended party. He should have stopped and weighed things with the poise and detachment that his position required, and realised that if two _friends_, two trusted members of his crew, had behaved out of character it wasn't necessarily with the intention to hurt him.

Trip had left Enterprise with his heart in pieces. It should've been damn clear, that time in his ready room; but jealousy had blinded him. Yes, he'd been jealous that Trip hadn't opened up to him, and had put his love-life problems before their friendship. He had turned sour and selfish, making it even harder for them both. What had happened to his insight; to his compassion and understanding, qualities he had once told T'Pol he would never give up?

Talking of not opening up…

Archer shifted his gaze from the biobed on which Phlox lay – oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose, alien ridges glistening with perspiration – to the pale and still form of his Armoury Officer, on the next one. A bandage covered Malcolm's nose, bruising creeping out from under it.

With Malcolm he'd been resentful to the point of cruelty, that time in the brig. Sure, he had been rightly furious because his ship was about to disintegrate, but there had also been his offended pride, the idea that _his_ man had put another commanding officer before him; it had made him overstep the boundary of his rank and prey on the difficult relationship he knew Malcolm had with his father. Damnit, he had pushed the usually restrained man to the brink of tears. Hadn't it been obvious that someone had twisted Malcolm's arm? That the Lieutenant had been deeply conflicted?

In that shuttle, as he waited for the fatidic moment of no return, when he would have had to give the order to lift off without two members of his away party, he had suddenly realised how much he still cared about his Armoury Officer, and that he could have shown a bit more insight in that circumstance as well.

Archer took the last couple of steps to Phlox's bed.

Trip had already regretted his transfer, and asked to come back. Malcolm would have given up his life to protect the crew from that virus; and in the end he had brought Phlox back, safe if not exactly sound. These were no traitors; these were trusted Officers and friends. And if a traitor must be found, maybe he should just look into a mirror.

T'Pol's voice drew him from his abstraction, and Archer twisted to see her talk quietly to a couple of medics. When she turned, their gazes met. With the grace and poise that always distinguished her, she approached.

"How are they?" Archer enquired, straightening his shoulders and schooling his features.

T'Pol's steady dark gaze lingered on his for a few long seconds, silently letting him know she wouldn't be fooled by his pretences. Then she crossed her arms loosely over her chest.

"Doctor Phlox is responding to the cure, but the virus is quite aggressive on his particular physiology," she replied, glancing briefly at her 'patient'. "I am keeping him constantly monitored."

"Malcolm?" Archer asked quietly. He suddenly realised that he had started calling him by the first name again, even in his thoughts; it melted a knot in his chest.

"The Lieutenant will be fine. He needs rest, but his fever is already abating. There were traces of some drug in his blood, and the medics found a puncture mark on his shoulder – as they did on Phlox's thigh; they were probably anesthesized. Mister Reed's nose was fractured; the medics have splinted it."

Archer silently nodded. "How about the doctors of the Science Station?"

T'Pol blinked, and feeling shone briefly in her gaze. "I'm afraid there was nothing we could do for Doctor Sahak and Doctor Vinci."

Her voice was veiled, and for a moment she looked uncharacteristically frail. He wasn't the only one who had sacrificed himself for the mission in the Expanse – Archer mused; T'Pol had perhaps sacrificed even more, compromising her Vulcan character. He felt a sudden fatherly impulse to take her slim form into his arms. He wished for a moment he could be her friend, and not her Captain.

Recovering her emotional balance, T'Pol went on, "The other doctors are struggling, but I am confident we can save them. Doctor Trenton-"

"Doctor Trenton is the least of my worries," Archer cut her off sharply, swept off by a sudden wave of anger. He took a claming breath. "I'm sorry," he forced out. "Go ahead."

"Doctor Trenton is recovering in the brig," she resumed, dark eyes boring into his. "But he is showing signs of paranoia. He seems to think Starfleet wants him dead."

"He created his own demons," Archer said gravely. "I'm afraid he'll have to live with them now." He passed a tired hand over his face.

"Captain, your cranial ridges may have disappeared, but I believe you should rest. You are displaying signs of exhaustion."

Resolve to send him to his quarters rang out clearly in her voice. Archer shot his SIC a narrowed-eye look. "Such as?" he bit back.

"Such as a short temper," she easily replied, lifting her eyebrows.

Archer let out a slow breath, feeling older than his age.

"Maybe my exhaustion is more serious than we think," he croaked out. He gave an inner smirk. Maybe it was T'Pol who should take him into her arms in a soothing embrace.

T'Pol tilted her head to one side, looking to ponder the meaning of his words. He had no doubt that she would get it pretty quickly.

Iindeed, she said, "You should not doubt yourself," after a pause. "We have been through a lot, and as the Captain you bore the heaviest burden. Your crew understands that."

"A Captain can't allow personal emotions to influence the way he treats his crew," he countered. A difficult admission; but he valued T'Pol's advice. He wondered with mild amusement what Soval would say, if he heard him talk like that.

"The fact that you understand that is a sign that you will not allow it to happen again."

T'Pol's serene face was like a calm sea, and he took comfort from it.

"Your experience will guide you in the right direction," she went on with her quiet logic. "That and rest," she added meaningfully.

"All right," Archer sighed. Just then Malcolm decided to stir. "Give me a moment," he told her.

T'Pol glanced at the Lieutenant; then back at him. "I will remain in Sickbay, in case I am needed." With a nod, she left.

Archer walked around Phlox's bed to Malcolm's. The man was shifting under his sheet; after a moment his eyes cracked open, but it took them a while to focus.

"Captain," he eventually choked out in a slightly nasal voice, sluggishly starting to scramble to a straighter position.

As he put a restraining hand out to stop him, Archer couldn't help smiling. The last thing Malcolm had seen before drifting into unconsciousness was the gaze of his Captain looking at him, and now it was also the first thing he found upon drifting back to reality. The man must feel haunted.

"Easy, Lieutenant," he said. "You're going to be fine, but take it slowly."

Malcolm's expression remained somewhat wary. He slowly took stock of himself, raising a tentative hand to his nose; then turned to his surroundings. "The Doctor?" he enquired, worry entering his voice as his eyes took in the less than reassuring sight of Phlox lying next by.

Archer half-turned and looked at the Denobulan. "He's struggling, but T'Pol says he's responding to the cure." He grimaced. "Unfortunately I can't say the same for Doctor Sahak and Doctor Vinci. They didn't make it."

Malcolm closed his eyes, relaxing back on his pillow. "I tried..." he breathed out.

"I'm sure you did your best."

The grey eyes blinked open again, unusually unguarded. The man's self-discipline generally reined in any kind of emotion. Not now.

"I'm truly sorry," the Lieutenant murmured. "Phlox considered Sahak a friend."

"Love, of any kind, does not exist without pain," Archer reasoned out loud. The words were hardly out of his mouth than he realised they were rather loaded, given the strained relationships there had been on board, lately. Indeed they caused a frown to crease Malcolm's brow.

Hand on his chest, the man turned away for a fit of coughing, which made him go a shade paler.

"You need to rest," Archer said, getting ready to leave.

"Captain..." Malcolm choked out, turning back. He cleared his throat, catching his breath. "Before, on that planet… My tone was entirely out of line, Sir, and…" He faltered, ill-at-ease.

Right. The Lieutenant hadn't exactly been a model of propriety. Archer lifted his eyebrows. "I should undoubtedly throw you in the brig," he quipped. "But at the moment it already holds a guest."

"That didn't stop you before, Sir," the Armoury Officer observed in a low voice, with a direct look.

Archer studied the taut but expectant face before him. It wasn't often that Malcolm was this open – challenging, even – with him. Was it the man's way of asking where they stood?

"That time you deserved it," he said in all honesty, though carefully checking his tone.

Malcolm's eyes shifted away; then back. He pursed his lips. "I know I failed you, Sir," he said deep in his chest. "I cannot undo what I did. But if you're wondering whether you can still trust me-"

"Lieutenant," Archer cut him off. But when silence fell, he was suddenly at a loss for the right words.

Hell, it wasn't all that difficult.

"Sometimes it takes losing something – or someone – to realise how important they are to you," he said, rubbing a hand on his forehead. He paused, emotion still raw in him as he remembered. "In that shuttle, as time was running out, I thought I'd lost you and Phlox. I'm glad I didn't. Both of you."

He placed a hand on Malcolm's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, like in the old times. "I need my Armoury Officer. _This_ Armoury Officer. Get back on your feet and quickly." Breaking the moment with a playful lift of the eyebrows, he concluded, "That's an order."

Malcolm's mouth tightened briefly, before curving into a smile. "Gladly, Sir," he croaked out. "You know how much I like staying in sickbay."

_§ A week later §_

Checking his posture in the mirror, Malcolm stretched his arms above his head, enjoying the pull on each vertebra of his spine. He had chosen dinner time to come to the gym so he could be alone for the first time he worked out, after his illness. He hadn't done more than twenty minutes of light exercise, but it felt good to be able to do some physical activity again.

"Hey, are ya even s'pposed to be in here?"

The unmistakable Southern drawl made him refocus, and in the reflection he watched Trip enter, sweatpants and T-shirt, and towel around his neck. It was strange for the Engineer to be here at this time, but he didn't mind. In fact, he was glad. It was high time they picked up on their friendship.

"I'm not doing anything strenuous," Malcolm said, turning to him. "Besides, I've got Phlox's green light."

Trip chuckled. "I suspect Phlox's own desire to get back to work, this time, has a lot to do with that."

Malcolm felt a smile bud on his face. Shaking his head in amusement, he agreed, "It seems the man can't stand his own medicine."

"Well, ya know what they say, about doctors bein' the worst patients." Still chuckling, Trip climbed on a stationary bike and set his exercise. "You two might even start gettin' along." A grin was firmly in place as he started pedalling.

"We're both protectors, for one," Malcolm quipped back. His smile fell abruptly as the thought of the two lives that had been lost chased all happiness away.

Leaning forward on the handlebars, Trip fixed determined blue eyes in his cloudy ones.

"You're not gonna brood on me, now, are you? It's already a miracle you managed to save as many lives as you did; yours and Phlox's included."

After all this time, Trip could read him like a book. Malcolm grunted an assent, but wondered if the Engineer would ever fully understand what losing a life that could've been saved meant to him. Not because the man was callous; on the contrary, Trip was a very sensitive person. But it didn't fall on him to keep people from harm. When a life was lost there wasn't only grief to deal with, but also a damning feeling of failure that didn't leave him for days on end.

If he had managed to break the lock of the main lab sooner… If he had prevented Trenton from starting the self-destruct sequence… If he had thought of searching the man, and found the cure sooner… If they had made it back a few hours earlier… If, if, if. Invariably, when something went wrong, his mind was full of ifs.

"Have you talked to Phlox?" the Engineer asked.

"Hmm?" Malcolm frowned, a bit confused. Of course he had talked to Phlox.

"You know… about Sahak and Vinci."

Walking to his water bottle, Malcolm picked it up. "Yeah," he muttered. "Phlox was quite understanding. I must say, he's been overly benevolent with me, lately."

The silence that followed was rather eloquent. Right, he hadn't filled Trip in yet on his foolhardiness.

Malcolm took a deep breath and turned to his friend. "That time..." He licked his lips, knowing by Trip's undivided attention that he didn't need to specify _which_ time. "I purposefully hindered Enterprise's search for him," he forced out.

He watched Trip's face react to the words, a veil falling over it to cover any emotion. The man slowed down his pedalling and came to a halt.

"Why would you do something like that?" he asked, frozen in place, blue eyes boring into him.

Malcolm swallowed. "I lied to the Captain, trying to throw Enterprise off-course," he went on, ignoring Trip's question. "When he found out and questioned me, I refused to reply. So he threw me in the brig." He watched Trip narrow his eyes. "When those Klingon attacked us and placed the ship in danger, I..." Malcolm closed his own. "I still didn't answer his questions."

"Why would you, of all people, do something like that?" Trip repeated.

"Because I'm a bloody idiot," Malcolm huffed. He uncorked his bottle and took a swig, more to escape Trip's gaze than for anything else.

"And?"

Eyes carefully averted, Malcolm wiped an arm over his mouth. "I was made to believe Phlox was on an important mission for Earth. I was to protect it by hindering Enterprise's search for him."

"You were made to believe... by who?"

Trip was keeping his voice carefully level; but his disturbing stillness was shouting. Malcolm took another steadying breath, hoping that after this conversation things could still be the same between them. He had just patched things up with Archer, he didn't want to break them with this friend; especially now that he had come back.

"By someone called Harris. My former CO," he said, summoning the courage to look Trip straight in the eye. In a voice that came out hoarser than he'd intended, he added, "I worked for him as a covert agent, long before Enterprise."

Trip blinked a couple of times; then let out a low whistle.

"Why didn't you confide in the Capt'n?" he wondered after a long pause. Releasing the handlebars, he sat up straight and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'd have expected you-"

"I wanted to, but Harris forbade me," Malcolm cut in vehemently. He passed a hand through his hair, pulling on the nape of his neck. "I knew nothing of the attempt to create Klingon Augments, I swear; that Phlox would find himself in danger," he went on in earnest. "I was used." He blew out a breath. "I told you: I'm an idiot."

Trip looked at him deadpan for a moment; then raised his hands, palms out. "Okay, I believe you."

Malcolm groaned. "Is that all you're going to say?"

Rolling his eyes upwards, Trip made a show to think hard. "Want to share a couple of beers tonight?" he eventually asked, with a lift of his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Malcolm blurted out, "I'd like that."

So they hadn't needed a cold start after all. He turned from Trip and closed his eyes, needing a moment to himself because he felt giddy with the sudden release of tension. Maybe the crew of the Enterprise could leave their demons behind, and be once again the men and women that nobody and nothing could pull apart.

"A _covert agent_?" he heard Trip mutter in disbelief. "Honestly, Malcolm…"

Blinking his eyes open, Malcolm realised he had forgotten about the mirror. Trip was studying him. He met his friend's reflected gaze. "Yes," he stuttered awkwardly.

Dropping back into position, Trip resumed his pedalling, a smile playing on his face. "Kind of like James Bond?"

Malcolm sighed, knowing what was coming. Still, to get his friend back…

"Ya know what we're gonna talk about, over those beers, right?"

… it was a worthwhile price. He was forgiven.

THE END

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